


Sword and Shield

by tori_cat13



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, M/M, Multi, Percival and Harry will make a power couple of awesomeness, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:49:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tori_cat13/pseuds/tori_cat13
Summary: Percival Graves, hanging in between life and death, is visited by two Beings who grant him a second chance. A chance to help save and change the Wizarding World. He accepts and is thrown forwards in time in his sixteen year old body where he finds himself in a park with the sky darkening and the temperature plummeting....





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I tried to sleep and that wasn't happening and instead this did. This is my contribution to the Original Percival Graves/ Harry Potter ship, hercival(?) Perry(?) Ha, I'm a call this ship Perry....  
> It occurred to me that if the real Percival Graves wasn't found then he would more than likely die a slow, horrible death in a small, cramp, more than likely damp and lightless place starving to death and I just couldn't do that to my favorite character. Especially not one who wears Colin Farrell's pretty pretty face. So I did this. And because there is not nearly enough Perry shipping stories, this.  
> I hope you all enjoy this. I might or might not continue it, though I think I will probably try. Thanks for reading.  
> If anyone wanted to know, the forms Death is talking about are: the one from the Tale of the Tree Brothers, the one in Supernatural, and the one he settles in is the Angel of Death from Charmed. Cause I'm a nerd like that.

    Percival Graves knew he was, for all intents and purposes, fucked. It had been weeks since Grindelwald had come to taunt him. Or feed him for that matter. Say what you would about the bastard but he took his villianing seriously. Hell, Percival was sure that hideous mustache of his was grown just so he could twirl it. He was also surprisingly conscientious with the whole "keeping his prisoners 'fed' regularly" thing. Of course, those meals were watery gruel and stale bread, but Graves had passed the point of caring after a few weeks. In fact right now, he would actually really like some.

    And that was the whole point, Grindelwald had not shown up for... He didn't know for sure, measuring time was rather meaningless when his life had become an endless cycle of sitting in the dark, broken up by rounds of torture and villainous speeches of wizards finally taking their place yaddah yaddah yaddah, and food being delivered.

    But back to that, Percival knew that he was dying. He couldn't feel his limbs and his mind felt hazier than normal-- or at least, what was normal these days. At this point he held out little hope of anyone finding him. Or even really recognizing that he had been replaced. Pathetic.

    Unexpectedly the door opened, flooding the small cell with light and making Percival cringe back, covering his eyes with his arm. By the time they adjusted the two figures had stepped into the cell, both wearing matching expressions of distain for the filth and smells.

    "Dear me, how _do_  you manage to live in this?" The male said. He had messy black hair and green eyes. "Then again, I suppose you don't; that _is_  after all the reason we are here."

    "You and your gallows humour," the female sighed. She had brilliant red hair and eyes the exact same shade as the male. "And please stop wearing that face; with what we have planned it will make it very uncomfortable for him."

    "But I like this face!" The other whinged. "This face is _much_ better than my Dementor-esque form. Or the one where I look like a gaunt corpse walking around in a suit."

    "I don't care; take it off."

    He pouted before his features shifted to a middle aged man with sandy brown hair swept back from his face and reaching to his shoulders, curling at the ends, in a black turtle neck with a black blazer. "There. You happy now?"

    Graves finally found his voice, even if it was raspy with disuse and broken from far too much screaming. "What are you? What do you want with me?"

    The female tilted her head and hummed, "Now this won't do." And suddenly Graves found himself seated at a table along with the two-- beings. The male waved his hand and the table was filled with food and drink, to which he immediately helped himself to a slice of pizza. A goblet filled itself with water and a plate appeared with easily digestible foods. Graves just eyed it warily. "Percival, honey, we swear that none of this food or drink will be harmful to you."

    Percival was a bit surprised to feel magic wrap around him in response to such an unspecified oath but relaxed slightly just the same. Picking up his fork he asked, "So what _do_ you want with me? It's unlikely that you just stumbled across me and decided to feed me."

    The man paused in the middle of his burger. "You were dying. Not _quite_ dead yet, but certainly in the In Between. As such, you were in my realm and I have full rights to... Well, do whatever the hell I like, really."

    "Your...realm...."

    "We're what you would call gods," the female said. "We manipulate the world around us as we see fit. And sometimes we get bored and mess with things just because; Fate more than the rest of us, but we all have our favorites. Death's for instance, is the one whose form he was wearing earlier. I myself have a chosen few who honor me; one of whose form I am indeed wearing: a woman by the name of Lily Potter. Even with her no-maj upbringing she strove to learn all she could of my gifts, even some that are now deemed illegal. It was this knowledge and my blessing that allowed her to save her son at the cost of her own life."

    "Her son is my favored." Death cut in, picking up a hotdog. "There isn't just one world-- it's a vast multi verse of infinite outcomes: each decision makes a branch and those spawn yet more. And in each of these, my favored has managed to unite my Hallows. Of course, only one of them has _all_  the power of being the Master of Death, it would be a madhouse if there were Masters running all around the multi verse, hopping dimensions and time. I don't even want to think about it. But the rest do carry the title and some of the powers. And each and every one of them willingly accept dying, to accept me."

    "Not a healthy mindset, that one," the female-- Magic-- said, daintily eating a pastry. "Then again, I suppose we can blame his upbringing for that." Death nodded, agreeing while he spooned some curry and rice into his mouth. "That headmaster of his sure didn't help," he said.

    Percival just watched the verbal tennis match with a slightly bemused air. He sat back and folded his hands over his stomach, "Now why do I feel like I'm in a department meeting listening to a presentation for a proposal the presenters think I won't like?"

    Magic's mouth twitched upwards but it was Death how put aside his pie and said bluntly, "We want to de-age you, toss you into the future, and let you flail about, causing untold mayhem and upsetting innumerable plans, while helping my favored and bringing down a Dark Lord."

    Percival choked a little.

   "What Death means to say is we want to de-age you, place you in a point of time where you would be in a position to help teach and protect others, and, yes, help bring down a Dark Lord...and perhaps a Light Lord too...."

    Percival blinked. "And why, pray tell, would I need to be de-aged for that?"

    The two immortals shared a glance. Magic replied, "To fit in of course."

    Percival tilted his head. It's not every day a mortal can make two gods sweat but Percival Graves, even half dead, was rather intimidating. And they knew his responses would only get worse the more their plans for him were revealed. Especially the ones for his interactions with Harry Potter.

    Death put on his Big God pants and said gruffly, "Because we said so." Then promptly cleared his throat as Magic covered her face with a hand and shook her head. "It's better if you are around Harry's age: he'll trust you more and most people won't be as suspicious of you when you pop up from seemingly nowhere. Plus, as despicable as it is, the main fighters of this war are children. Or at least on the Light's side."

    "And either way," Death cut in, "I'm giving you as a gift to my favored. He needs someone that will always be on his side, who will teach him and care for him. _You_  will do perfectly."

    "And if I don't want to go?" Percival raised an eyebrow.

    "We're gods, child." Death suddenly dropped the charade and his eyes glowed with the knowledge of eons, power radiated from him drowning Percival in the smothering sensation.

    Magic's eyes too began to glow. "The Magical World has stagnated. They have lost their way and are losing their connection with me. Already feats of magic that would have been commonplace in your time are near legend. You are needed." Her voice resonated. "Would you give up this second life, this chance to save and change the world, to protect?"

    Percival had already known his answer; it was written into the foundations of his very soul, after all. It was, more than anything, the reason he chose to be an Aurora, that need to protect, to fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves. "I will protect."

    All at once the power disappeared letting him draw breath once more.

    "In that case, there's just a few more things to do like heal your body, even if you're going to keep those scars; it wouldn't do for yo to walk around all skeletal. We need you in fighting condition. And then there's this," he reached out and placed his hand over the right side of Percival's neck. He tried to jerk away as an intense burning pain came from where the hand was. It lasted no more than a second, then Death was moving back and Magic conjured a mirror. There, on his neck, was the mark of Gellert Grindelwald.

    "Now, now," Death reprimanded," that is _not_  Grindelwald's mark; it's mine. Or rather, it's the mark of the Deathly Hallows. I told you I was giving you to my favored; this is his mark, as their Master, even if-- strictly speaking-- he hasn't mastered them yet in this universe. Anyway, it will show those who know of such things who you belong to and will be a delightful red herring for a certain meddler. That man needs more to preoccupy his time with instead of pulling strings on my favored." He muttered.

    Magic waved a hand and healed Percival. "In the vein of keeping with Death's distraction, a wand," she handed him a black wand with vine like swirls of silver reaching from grip to tip," elder wood, 11 and 3/4s inches, unyielding, with thestral hair core. Let the man think of that what he will.

    "You'll need to go to Gringott's as soon as you can manage, preferably with Harry, but I doubt you'll be able to for a while yet. You'll be landing in a spot of trouble I'm afraid."

    With that he felt a tug not unlike a portkey and then there was blackness. When he regained his senses he noticed he was in a park, not a very well watered one either. As he watched a group of teenagers, led by a youth with a rather unfortunate resemblance to a beached whale, held down a smaller boy clearly intended to harm him. He was ready to step forwards when another young man called out to them, clearly provoking. Percival's breath caught in his throat. The boy, even though he was physically identical to Death's earlier form, gave off a completely different presence. Even with his ragged clothes hanging off his thin frame, there was a fire in him, one that burned so bright Percival, even all the way across the park as he was, could feel its heat. Those emerald eyes hidden behind spectacles flashed with defiance even as the whale-child bore down on him and the rest of his posse jeered. "Who's Cedric then, your boyfriend?" The flabby one was saying.

    Percival made his way across the park and that's when he noticed the rapidly falling temperature and the darkening sky. He could hear Magic's words echoing in his head,  _You'all be landing in a bit of trouble I'm afraid._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dementor attack and after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or am making money or any of that jazz. I have indeed quoted- and paraphrased- directly from the book. Which is much easier to do when I have a copy of it, by the way. Just sayin'. Holy cheese graters, Batman. This was a hella long chapter for me. I swear this is probably the longest one I've ever written and I spent like 8 or 9 hours on this monster. Facebooking during writing was minimal. Thanks for reading, by the way.

    Even no-majs, Percival has found, have a sense for the supernatural, probably from their very developed senses of self-preservation. Because of this it was no surprise that the posse dispersed like a bunch of roaches suddenly faced with light. The green-eyed boy—Harry—was looking warily up at the sky and tugging the other boy’s arm. “Come on, Dudley. We have to get out of here!”

    The fat one followed as they broke into a run. Percival went with them, years of conditioning his body and Auror work making it easy to draw even with them. “Who- who…are…you?!” the fat one—Dudley—gasped out. “Innocent bystander,” Percival replied airily.

    “Never…seen…you…before.”

    “Just got here; Percival Graves.”

   “Interesting tattoo,” Harry said suspiciously, not having nearly as much trouble as his cousin considering he was rather used to running for his life. “I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

   Percival gave a noncommittal hum. They came to some sort of concrete overhang/alleyway before everything went absolutely dark. The chill was getting more pervasive and Dudley was starting to panic. “Stop—sto—what are you doing?!” He was shouting at Harry as Harry tried to deny having done anything at all. Before it could blow completely out of control, Percival cut in, a hint of steel in his voice, guaranteeing the one asked would instinctively answer, “Since you are obviously blaming him, I can assume you know about magic, yes?” Dudley stuttered the affirmative. “You live with him?” Again, a nod and stuttered reply. “Good,” Percival said before nodding and unsheathing his wand. “ _Lumos maxim,”_ he said as he flicked his wrist as if using a whip. A ball of light left his wand to hover in the middle of the structure, illuminating the surroundings. And the two Dementors currently entering the sphere of light. Dudley made a weird gasping squeal noise as Harry drew his wand as well. Percival spared a glance and raised eyebrow for the blond and told Harry not use his wand.

    Already Percival could hear the sounds of his own agonized screams echoing in his ears and that sadistic laugh, that taunting voice with its harsh yet lilting accent mocking him, telling him about how none of his colleagues had guessed—had even suspected that the man wearing his face was not in fact their boss but the Dark Lord Grindlewald, oh the irony. Already he could feel his bones breaking, his nerves, as if being sliced with razors from the Cruciatus.

    The other two weren’t much better and Harry was trying to stutter out the incantation for the Patronus Charm, luckily he hadn’t quite managed to make it to the last syllable. Percival on the other hand, had decades of experience working on shutting down his emotions for various reasons and channeling nothing but determination so he raised his elder wand and intoned, “ _Expecto Patronum.”_ A ghostly panther exploded from the tip and attacked with all the viciousness one would expect from a 600-lb feline predator protecting its young. The Dementors gave some unholy shrieks as they turned and fled. The panther came back to its conjuror and rubbed itself against his legs on its way to the other two. Dudley at first tried to shrink back before the panther actually reached him, however when the panther made contact his trembling started to fade as the aura of the patronus started to combat the effects of the Dementors, then he reached down to hesitantly pet its head. It moved on to Harry, staring into his eyes for a moment before reaching up on its back feet and planting its front paws on Harry’s chest before rubbing its face against his. Then it twined itself around his legs like a housecat. Meanwhile Percival couldn’t help but cover his face with his hand and look away, red making its way across his face. The patronus disappeared like smoke as the sound of hurried footsteps made their way towards them.

    An old woman with the air of a crazy cat lady and an appearance to match came around the corner huffing.  She caught sight of Harry who was in the process of stowing his wand, assuming he was now in the presence of a Muggle.

    “Don’t put it away, idiot boy!” she shrieked. “What if there are more of them around? Oh, I’m going to _kill_ Mundungus Fletcher!”

    “What?” said Harry blankly.

    “He left!”  said Mrs. Figg, wringing her hands. “Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told him I’d flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors! It’s just lucky I put Mr. Tibbles on the case! But we haven’t got time to stand around! Hurry, now, we’ve got to get you back! Oh, the trouble this is going to cause! I will _kill_ him!”

    Many thoughts flashed by Harry’s mind: his batty old cat-obsessed neighbor knew what Dementors were, a man named Mundungus Fletcher was…supposed to be watching him?! And he had had absolutely zero contact with anything magical _all summer_ and there were people watching him!? He must have been who Harry had heard Disapparating earlier, this was going to cause a lot of trouble..? and apparently a _cat_ makes a better guard than a wizard. But first: “You’re—you’re a _witch_?”

    “I’m a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you fight off Dementors? He left you completely--” It was at this point she caught sight of Percival. “Who are you and what are you doing here? I know everyone in Privet Drive and I’ve never seen you even once.”

   “Oh, I’m just an innocent bystander named Percival Graves. Now, shall we go?” His comment seemed to have left her a bit speechless but since she couldn’t really do anything else she just nodded and turned to go. Dudley still seemed to be having a bit of trouble walking so Percival heaved one of his arms around his shoulders and nodded for Harry to take the other.  The woman could be heard muttering and ranting to herself but one word in particular caught Harry and Percival’s attention.

    “You know Dumbledore?” Harry said, staring at her, his feet momentarily stalling.

    “Of course I know Dumbledore, who doesn’t know Dumbledore? But come _on_ —I’ll be no help if they come back, I’ve never so much as Transfigured a teabag—”

    Harry went to put his wand away again before she said, “Keep your wand out. Never mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there’s going to be hell to pay anyway, we might as well be hanged for a dragon as an egg. Talk about the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery… This was _exactly_ what Dumbledore was afraid of.”

    They were getting closer to Number 4 and Harry felt his chance of getting answers slipping through his fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a Squib? All those times I came round your house—why didn’t you say anything?”

    “Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I’m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know…. But oh my word,” she said, wringing her hands once more, “when Dumbledore hears about this—how could Mundungus have left, he was supposed to be on duty until midnight— _where is he?_ How am I going to tell Dumbledore what’s happened, I can’t Apparate—”

    “I’ve got an owl, you can borrow her,” Harry offered.

   “Harry, you don’t understand! Dumbledore will need to act as quickly as possible, the Ministry have their own ways of detecting underage magic, they’ll know already, you mark my words—”

    “But I didn’t even use magic!”

    “You didn’t—what! Then how did you get rid of the Dementors! My goodness boy, this isn’t the sort of thing to lie about! What would Dumbledore and your parents think!”

    “But I’m not lying! It was Graves that cast the Patronus,” he said with an apologetic look to which Percival just shrugged, not at all put out.

    “I did indeed cast the Patronus. And the Lumos Maxima. And since I’m not a citizen of Britain….” He trailed off. His words seemed to constantly have a Silencing effect of the woman, which he considered a rather good thing; he and his Auror senses were not liking _any_ of what he was hearing. He had heard of Dumbledore during his time of course, but he had only been a Transfiguration Professor and Deputy of Hogwarts. What authority did he have to deny Harry his heritage, his _magic?_ And to have people keeping watch over Harry? Who exactly, other than Death’s favored, was Harry Potter?

    At that moment a loud _crack_ reverberated down the street, swiftly followed by an overwhelming reek of stale tobacco and alcohol as a squat, unshaven man with long straggly ginger hair, short bandy legs, bloodshot drooping eyes reminiscent of a basset hound, wearing a tattered overcoat appeared. He was promptly assaulted by the woman after giving an irreverent greeting of, “’S’up, Figgy?” Percival was not at all inclined to stop it. He nudged Harry and tilted his head in the direction they had been walking. Harry looked torn for a second, glancing towards Number 4 and the pair that was now bickering before realizing he wouldn’t be getting any more information and nodding resignedly and continuing to help manuveour his cousin. The only part he really cared to hear—and he was sure the whole street could hear them at this point—was that Fletcher was going to go tell Dumbledore.

    Arabella Figg huffed at that despicable bottom feeder left then glanced confusedly around wondering where the boy had got to. She spotted them down the street and hurried to catch up. “Good,” she said, as she reached them, “finally showing some of that intelligence they told me you had. Goodness, such a disaster. You having to fight off Dementors—in Little Whinging of all places! And Dumbledore said we were to keep you from doing magic! Well, no use crying over spilt potion,” she said, seemingly forgetting Percival’s involvement and the fact that Harry did _not_ in fact, use magic. “Now, I’ll walk you to the door but then I’m going straight home; have to wait for instructions, after all.”

    “So Dumbledore’s been having me watched?” Harry asked, just to be sure and to try to get a sense of how long and how closely.

    “Of course he has,” Mrs. Figg gestured to the door impatiently. “Did you expect him to let you wander around after what happened in June? Good Lord, boy, show some sense. Right, get inside and stay there. I expect someone will be in touch with you soon enough.” She was off before Harry could even yell for her to wait. So instead the three just made their way to the door. Harry put his wand away and rang the doorbell. He could see Aunt Petunia’s outline growing larger before the door was opened with a, “Diddy! About time too, I was getting quite—quite— _Diddy, what’s the matter?”_

   Harry glanced sideways and then darted away with reflexes honed from years of quidditch just in time as Dudley’s face went a pale green before he promptly vomited all over the doormat.

    “DIDDY! Diddy, what’s the matter with you? Vernon! VERNON!”

    Harry’s uncle came barreling in like a rampaging walrus, mustache twitching and puffing up as it always did when he was agitated. “Excuse me!” Percival’s voice cut through Petunia’s hysterics and Vernon’s threats with the ease of someone used to commanding the attention of a room and with the expectation of those hearing to _listen and pay attention._ “Your son is going into shock, if you would, Ma’am get a warm blanket and take him to sit on the couch; the adrenaline is just wearing off and he’s suffering some slight symptoms from the attack earlier.” He handed Dudley off to Vernon as Petunia raced to the upstairs linen closet. He stepped closer to Harry and said in an undertone, “Would you please make some hot chocolate for the three of us, you and I might not be feeling the after-effects but believe me, they’re there. I’ll deal with your… aunt and uncle..?” He guessed.

   Harry nodded. “My Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon Dursley.” He hesitated before admitting, “They’re… not very fond of magic.”

    “I can handle it,” Percival assured him. Harry looked him in the eyes to gauge his truthfulness before nodding and making his way to the kitchen.

    Percival went to where he had seen Vernon take Dudley. He saw Dudley huddling on the couch, shivers wracking his body. Petunia came in with some blankets and heaped them on the boy. Both were trying to get answers from him but he was stuttering so badly they could hardly make anything out.

    Vernon turned and saw Percival enter the room. “You!” he boomed, “What happened to my son? You said he was attacked!”

    “Indeed I did,” Percival answered coolly. “ And whether you want to hear it or not, the attack was magical in nature.”

    Petunia gave a horrified little shriek and covered her mouth with her hand. Vernon however, just swelled even bigger and roared, “I WILL NOT HAVE THAT NONSENSE IN MY HOUSE!”

   Percival was not impressed. “Whether you want it in this house, or don’t want to believe it exists at all, is a moot point; your son and your nephew were attacked. Your nephew is magical and living in your house. Magic exists and you will have to deal with it. But that isn’t important right now. Your son was attacked by a being known as a dementor—”

    “And what in the ruddy hell is a dementor?” Vernon interrupted. Surprisingly it was Petunia, who had gone deathly pale, who answered just as Harry entered with the hot chocolates, “They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban.”

    Harry jerked into stillness, brain overloading from how many times his world had turned on its axis in the last few hours. Percival took two of the three cups from him as he tried to comprehend that _Aunt Petunia_ knew what Dementors were. “How d’you know that?”

    “I heard—that awful boy—telling _her_ about them—years ago,” she said jerkily.

    “If you mean my mum and dad, why don’t you use their names?” he said loudly. Petunia ignored him and he was about to say more, goad her more, when a look from Graves made him close his mouth.

     Graves went over to Dudley and held out a cup to him, “Chocolate cures the effects of a dementor. Drink this, it should also help with the shock.” Dudley took the cup and cradled it between his hands, taking a sip and nodding in appreciation. Percival took his own sip and said to Harry, “You should drink too.”

    Vernon seemed to, somehow, be subsiding as the obvious tremors in his son lessened and the color came back to his face. This small bit of peace was destroyed however, when an owl entered the room with a screech, barely missed his head, and dropped and envelope neatly at Harry’s feet then wheeled gracefully back out. “OWLS!” he bellowed, “OWLS AGAIN! I WILL NOT HAVE MORE OWLS IN MY HOUSE!”

    Harry wasn’t listening—no one was actually—he was already ripping open the envelope with his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat and his stomach somewhere near his feet and a giant ball of nerves and dread where his stomach had recently vacated.

    _Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle._

_The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

_As you have already received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 A.M. on August 12 th. _

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

Mafalda Hopkirk

        IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

         _Ministry of Magic_

 Harry read through the letter twice, sure there was some sort of mistake. He—he couldn’t be _expelled_. How—Hogwarts was his home. He hadn’t even done any magic! The line _Ministry representative would soon be by to destroy his wand_ kept playing over and over in his head. He barely noticed when Graves reached for the letter; he let it slip through numb fingertips. A hand on his shoulder grounded him as he swayed precariously and he grasped it like it was a lifeline.

   Graves kept his gaze on him for a moment longer, expressive black eyes showing concern, before he looked down and read the letter. He was silent for a beat before asking, “Previous offense?”

   Harry tonelessly replied, “Also not me; it was a house elf named Dobby. He didn’t want me going back to Hogwarts my second year because there was a dangerous plot by his former master. To get me in trouble he levitated a cake, and dropped in on a guest’s head. If that wasn’t bad enough, the Muggle guests were still here when an owl dropped of the letter and the wife had orinthophobia.”

   “If they were so concerned about the Statute they would make sure the birds didn’t deliver missives where there were no-majs present,” Graves grumbled. At Harry’s questioning look he clarified, “No magic; you call them Muggle. I also don’t quite understand how this whole magic detecting thing is supposed to work. In America, we have a much more efficient system—one that doesn’t confuse a minor’s magic with another’s—much less a different _species._ Ridiculous.”

    “But what do I do? Hogwarts _is my home._ ” Harry said. Unbeknownst to Harry—and it would remain that way—that was the moment the severely weak and practically pointless blood wards fell.

    “If they do come to destroy your wand, you have the right to—” Percival was cut off by an almighty CRACK as another owl missed the open window entirely and flew full speed into the glass. Harry ran over as his aunt was screeching in surprise and Vernon was going on about owls again and Dudley had a dazed sort of bemused expression on his face, doing much better than he was earlier.

   Harry took the small roll of parchment from the bird and brushed his hands through the feathers, straightening the as best he could before it took off. The note said:

              _Harry---_

_Dumbledore’s just arrived at the Ministry, and he’s trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE’S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANYMORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOUR WAND._

_Arthur Weasley_

    Dumbledore was trying to sort it all out..? He had that kind of power in the Ministry? Did that mean… he might be allowed back into Hogwarts? He felt a small kernel of hope as he passed the note to Graves. Then he panicked. He was supposed to refuse to surrender his wand to the representatives? Adult wizards who had the law on their side? And do it without magic?! His breath was starting to quicken before a hand gently squeezed the back of his neck, bringing him back to the present. Graves wasn’t even looking at him as he read the missive and then stared thoughtfully into space.

    This seemed like a mess, Percival thought. Adding the information he had gathered from Figg’s offhand comments about Dumbledore expecting something like this to happen and the Ministry’s swift action to expel Harry and Dumbledore’s influence…. He needed some connections in the political world. But… just who would he have… He was out of his time by a good 60-70 years. _Seraphina Picquery is still alive and still has the clout you will need for an ally,_ a voice whispered through his mind. Well, he decided, this will be difficult. And entertaining. Last she knew Grindlewald was waltzing around wearing my face and I was presumably never found. He sighed. This means I’ll have to write it in blood.

    “You said you have an owl?” He asked Harry who nodded. “Think she’ll be up to a trip to America?”

    “She’s never been that far but you can ask her.”

    Percival raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. He stopped briefly to check Dudley again, who was almost back to normal except for shadows in his eyes that would stay—the mark of one who has seen terror and been faced with horror and survived. “Finish the hot chocolate and you’ll be good to go; I’ll need to talk to you later though, okay?” Dudley nodded, he owed the boy his life after all. Then Percival followed Harry up the stairs only to stop and stare at the multitude of locks and a—was that a _cat flap?_ —on the door. The inside of the room wasn’t much better: broken furniture, a cot, and an overall depressing atmosphere that spoke of misery and…more recently, nightmares. Harry was standing in front of a cage, gingerly lifting out a magnificent beauty of a Snowy Owl. And if Percival caught sight of some lock picks laid on the desk next to it, well, it wasn’t any of his business.

    “Hey girl, I know this will be a long way, but this is Percival Graves, he saved my cousin and me tonight, would you mind taking a letter to America for him?”

    The owl turned amber eyes to Percival, the sort of bobbed her body forwards prompting Harry to take her closer to Percival. At this much shorter distance it felt like her gaze was dissecting his soul and weighing his trustworthiness. She apparently found him worthy since she hopped to his shoulder and nuzzled his face, nipping at his hair.

    “Huh. She’s only ever done that to me,” Harry said.

    “She’s a beauty; what’s her name?” Percival asked as he handed her back.

    “Hedwig. Do you need parchment? A quill? Ink?”

    “Do you have an empty—and clean—ink pot, parchment, quill and knife? A pen knife will be fine, as long as it’s sharp.”

   “Sure,” Harry said a bit unsurely before getting the required items. He set them before Graves and took his first real chance to observe him. He was handsome, tall, broad-shouldered. His eyes were black and expressive, there was a scar curling under his right eye, along his eye socket and another scar—vertical—down his jaw from his lower cheek to under his chin. He looked around Harry’s age, maybe a year or two older.  His hair was black as well, long on top and shaved on the sides; it had been slicked back but by now was falling freely down into his face. Harry had seen the tattoo on the right side of his neck earlier; it was a strange design, one he was sure he had seen in some way before—a triangle with a circle in it and a line running through both. It evoked a strange response in him, something akin to recognition and—possessiveness? He gasped when he saw Graves cut into his palm and hold it out over the ink pot, collecting the blood. “What are you doing!”

    Percival just calmly continued pouring his blood into the ink well as he explained, “Blood is powerful, especially the blood of a magical being. Something written in your blood _can not_ be a lie, otherwise your life and magic is forfeit. Never let _anyone_ take your blood and _never_ leave your blood just laying around; you’d never believe what someone can do if they get ahold of your blood. They can do terrible things: control your mind, track you _anywhere_ , tailor-fit potions to you, access your bank account; you give someone your blood—you give them your life.”

    “That’s… I never knew that.”

    “Some people do, some people don’t; it’s not really spoken aloud. Just one of those things you’re supposed to instinctively know since it’s so embedded into the culture, no one really thinks to say it out.”

    “Do you mind if I ask who you’re writing, that you need to do it in blood?”

   Percival just let a “hn” noise as he inspected the quill nib before waving his hand over the penknife, cleaning it, and then expertly shaved it down. Harry was stunned at the casual use of…was that _wandless magic?_ Graves replied, “Seraphina Picquery. She… knows me but would be more than unbelieving if she received a letter from me out of the blue.”

    Before Harry could respond to either the statement or the wandless magic another owl came through his window, dropped a letter, and skedaddled. Harry was getting pretty sick of official looking owls at this point but dutifully opened the letter anyway.

            _Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on 12 th August, at which time an official decision will be taken. _

_Following discussions with the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry had agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

Mafalda Hopkirk

            IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

            _Ministry of Magic_

  Well, at least he wasn’t expelled yet. He handed this letter over to Graves as well, seeing as the other boy somehow seemed like he’d be able to help—if not fix—this mess.

    “So, explain to me: who exactly is Dumbledore? He seems to have a lot of power for just being the headmaster of a school.” Graves asked carefully as he reread the letter.

    “He’s the best headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen. According to his chocolate frog card, he defeated the Dark Lord Grindlewald in a duel. He’s been warning the Ministry for _years_ that Voldemort wasn’t really dead and now Voldemort is back and they don’t seem to want to listen.” Graves made another small noise before turning back to his letter.

    Percival was trying to think of the easiest and least unbelievable way to tell Seraphina what had happened to him. He quickly came to the conclusion that that aspiration was a pipe dream. So he tried to get his needs across as succinctly as possible.

         _Picquery,_

_This letter will, no doubt, come as a surprise. Especially considering I am sure I was presumed dead. And I would have been, had it not been for the interference of two Beings. There’s a reason all of this letter is written in blood instead of just my name being signed in it._

_I’m told I was in between Life and Death when They visited. They offered—or ordered, whichever you want to use—me a second life. I’m not entirely sure why They did so, except that they want me to help change the Wizarding World and to fight in the war that seems to be brewing here. To that end, I’m now in my sixteen year old body in Britain at the residence of Harry Potter._

_Earlier, minutes after I arrived here in fact, Harry Potter and his cousins—and by extension, myself—were attacked by two Dementors. The city we are in seems to be Little Whinging—wherever that is exactly. I myself used the wand Granted me to cast the Patronus Charm. However, Mr. Potter received a letter from their Ministry informing him that for producing a Patronus Charm in a No-Maj area, in front of a No-Maj (his cousin), he was expelled from Hogwarts and his wand was to be snapped forthwith._

_There is, of course several things wrong with this, the least of which not being the fact that as a member of his family that he is living with, there would be leeway given and the fact that HE DIDN’T CAST MAGIC AT ALL. Not to mention I have cause to believe the cousin is a Squib._

_Perhaps, the most disturbing thing about this is the involvement of one Albus Dumbledore. It seems that the only legal authority Dumbledore has over Harry is being his headmaster. And yet, I have learned that he has had a constant “guard” on Mr. Potter taken in shift by as yet undisclosed persons. He apparently had a Squib watching Mr. Potter from a young age, forbidding her from telling the boy of magic and his heritage, giving the explanation of him being “too young.” There seems to be even more suspicious going-ons, considering his relatives are anti-magic but I digress._

_Mr. Potter soon received a note telling him that Dumbledore had arrived at the Ministry and would “sort it out” a little while later he received another official owl informing him that he could keep his wand until the disciplinary hearing on August 12 th and “following discussions with the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” the Ministry agreed to revisit the expulsion and to consider himself suspended pending further inquiries._

_What sort of power has Dumbledore managed to accrue since I was locked in that blasted cell, Picquery? Mr. Potter tells me he defeated Grindlewald in a duel? He has too much power, and from what I’ve seen I’m not sure he’s been using it properly. Why is he so fixated on Harry Potter, surely he wouldn’t do this for every student._

_I need information, Picquery. All relevant history from back then until now, the most up-to-date law books for Britain and anything from the ICW that could override anything the British Ministry decides. I need an ally Picquery, and I need your silence. I would like a friend._

_I’m staying with Harry Potter, my place is now and will be by his side for this war. I can only assume we are going to be moved to a more secure location soon and the likelihood of a letter getting through is slim. Those Mr. Potter’s owl seems unusually intelligent, it would take too long for correspondences to be passed between us often. And magnificent as she is, she is very noticeable._

_In the name of our friendship and all that I’ve been through, I need your help, Phina._

_Percival Graves_

   Percival took a deep breath and leaned back as he waited for the blood to dry. An owl came through the window making Harry groan in exasperation, “I’m really getting sick of strange owls showing up this evening,” he said as he took the note. He read it and his entire face twitched before he snorted out, “That’s _rich,_ coming from him.” At Percival’s questioning noise he explained, “My godfather; he said ‘Arthur’s just told us what happened. Don’t leave the house again, whatever you do.’ He and Mr. Weasley, my best mate’s dad—the one that send the letter before—act like I’m misbehaving and are saving of their scoldings for when they can see me in person. Sirius, my godfather, has been telling me all summer to ‘keep my head down,’ ‘be good,’ ‘don’t do anything reckless’ when he’s rather famous for chasing after my parents’ betrayer instead of taking care of _me, his godson,_ and then getting framed, sent to Azkaban without trial, breaking out twelve years later to go commit the crime he was accused of—killing Pettigrew—running from the law, having a Kiss on Sight order issued for him, getting caught, breaking out on the back of a Hippogriff—that was _also_ ordered to be executed, and then going on the run yet again. And yet he tells _me_ not to be reckless! What am I going to do, march off and challenge Voldemort to a duel?! When I’ve been stuck in this house without the slightest connection to the Wizarding World or magic at all? Maybe if they would _just tell me what is going on_ I wouldn’t be so desperate! I’m the one who face him in June! Who was forced to watch a classmate killed in front of me! Who was forced to help bring my enemy back using my own blood! And they tell me not to be reckless or that they aren’t allowed to say anything or that I’m—and this is the kicker—that I’m _too young_!” Harry laid down on his bed, panting from so many emotions. He had been holding them in all summer, with every nightmare, with every letter telling him nothing, with every day that the Muggle news shared nothing useful, and with every _Daily Prophet_ smearing his name. He almost felt hollow now,  almost all the things building up had been let out, like a boil being lanced. He felt better. He turned his head back to Percival to see his reaction to Harry’s outburst.

    His face was blank but there was a hint of compassion in his eyes—nothing like pity—but an understanding of feeling helpless. After a long, long moment in which some primal understanding passed between the two, Harry sat up and said, “We should probably talk to my Aunt and Uncle. And I don’t think anyone’s had dinner yet.”

    Percival nodded the folded his letter up and put it in an envelope, heating the wax and sealing it magically. He passed his hand over it again, laying some enchantments and wards so that no one but Picquery would be able to handle the letter or envelope. Hedwig landed on the desk and waddled excitedly over. Percival smiled at her enthusiasm. “This is for Seraphina Picquery; I’m not sure where she lives but I would think somewhere in New York. Would you mind if I cast some charms on you? A Fly-Easy Charm, Water- Repelling Charm, and one so that you can’t be intercepted or tracked?”

    She looked a bit offended at the last one but agreed to it anyway. Then she was on her way and Harry and Percival were walking to the den. The Dursleys were sitting around the room, Dudley and Petunia on the couch and Vernon in an arm chair, they seemed a bit lost as to what to do. “Aunt Petunia, I don’t think Dudley and I have eaten dinner and I’m not too sure about Percival here. Have you and Uncle Vernon eaten?” he asked with more gentleness than he ever had when addressing her before.

    “N—No, we haven’t. I should—I should make dinner. Is your—” she turned to address Percival, “Will you be staying for dinner?”

    “I would very much appreciate being able to stay and to eat with you and your family, Ma’am.” He replied. “If it eases your mind any, someone will likely be here within the next few days to collect Harry and I will be going with him.”

   Vernon grunted a “good riddance” but Petunia barely glanced at him as she stood and nervously wiped her hands on her dress before making her way to the kitchen, Harry followed her.

    When he reached the kitchen he saw his Aunt holding herself up by the kitchen counter almost seeming to be on the brink of tears. Harry had seen his a lot of his aunt’s emotions: happy when with her husband and son, proud of her son, jealous of the neighbor’s new car, preening whenever anyone complimented her on her garden, angry at him, frustrated, scared, cold, haughty, pretentious. But never had he seen her looking so… human. It occurred to him for the first time that she was his mother’s sister. He had known she was his aunt, that she had known his mother but never before had he realized that… this woman’s _sister_ had been murdered and that the same world that had killed her sister had almost killed her son, just this very night.

    Petunia abruptly straightened and raised a hand to wipe under her eyes. Catching sight of him she cleared her throat and said, “Harry, I didn’t see you there. Was there something you needed? I’m afraid I simply _must_ get dinner started. I was thinking something hearty, with potatoes. I think we can do a hardy meal this one time.”

    With that she turned and started rummaging through the pantry and the cupboard and the refrigerator taking out what she needed and laying it on the counter. Harry came closer and said quietly, “I… I thought I’d help you make dinner.”

    “That’s… that’s not necessary, Harry.”

    Harry reached out and gently caught her wrist where she was readying to slice an onion. “I want to.”

     She took a deep shuddering breath before nodding and sliding the chopping board over to him. “Then you can cut up the vegetables and I’ll put the potatoes on to boil and cook the meat. I thought I’d try out that cottage pie recipe that I saw in a magazine; it’s supposed to only take about 40 minutes.”

     The kitchen was silent except for the sounds of food preparation before Petunia said quietly, “Why do you think there were Dementors here? They couldn’t have been after Dudley and… and it seems that you would be the most likely target.”

    “I don’t know; I hadn’t thought about it. But… Voldemort probably sent them.” There was a clatter where Petunia almost dropped her spatula. “He’s back. He came back last June. I was there; I saw him. He killed a classmate right in front of me.”

    “That’s why you’ve been so desperate to watch the news: you’re looking for signs of him. Has there been any news from… from your friends, and that newspaper you subscribed to, and don’t think I don’t know about that mister.”

    Harry shook his head and handed over the onion for her to sauté with the meat and began chopping the carrots and other vegetables—potions perfect too—not that he really noticed and answered, “No, they just keep telling me ‘ _they aren’t allowed to say anything’_ and _‘it’s really busy here but we’ll tell you when we see you’_ but they won’t even tell me when that could even be. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so…”

    “Such a little shit?” Petunia suggested lightly.

    “Angry. I was going to say angry.”

     Petunia did the unimaginable: she chuckled. “That you have been. You always did get cheeky when angry and with that hair-trigger temper… You get that from…” She paused and gulped a little before continuing on vaguely hoarsely, “You get that your mother, Lily.”

    Harry nearly took the tip of his finger off from the shock. There was none of the venom in his aunt’s voice that she usually had when talking about his mother. Instead there was a long-buried pain and an ever more deeply buried regret.

    “I need the mushrooms,” Petunia said. He handed them over and quiet reigned again. This time the silence had somehow relaxed bit. Harry finished the vegetables and his aunt said quietly, “Drain the potatoes, then combine them with these.” She pushed some ingredients over next towards a bowl. “Yolk only; the recipe is written down on the notepad near the wall.”

    Harry mashed and mixed the potatoes. It was strangely soothing to work in tandem with his aunt, moving around in synch with hardly any need for words. Some long forgotten part of himself felt like a plant finally being watered and opening up to the sun. When he was little he had always wondered if this was what it was like to have family. When he was a little older than that, standing lonely on a stool managing an entire meal on his own, he wondered what it would be like, if his aunt actually taught him how to cook, showing love and care, making it into something for the two of them instead of just another chore he had to do for a family that wished they’d never heard of his existence.

    “When… when your mother and I… when we were younger… before that awful boy taught her all about… about magic… before magic came between your mother and I, we would sometimes cook together. On Mother’s Day and Father’s Day we would make breakfast and serve it to our parents in bed. We would make elaborate picnics for the two of us and spend the day at the park. That was where she met that boy you know, that Snape boy, he took her away from me. When our parents were too tired or had had a hard day at the hospital, we would beg to cook. Only once in a blue moon did we ever order a pizza or have food out.”

    “Hospital?” Harry asked, the first thought out of his mouth. He had always wondered about his grandparents, about any family he had really. His mind was also spinning that his mother had apparently known—and might have been friends with—Snape. But hey, today was a day the world just was not to make sense. At this point he was just rolling with it.

    “Our parents, John and Camellia Evans, were doctors. Our mother was quite famous for it really, being a doctor instead of a nurse. She fought tooth and nail for that right, she was an amazing woman. They died in a car crash, a drunk driver drove them off the road. It happened when I was three months pregnant with Dudley; I never even got to tell them. We’d had a fight, the last things I said to them were so hateful; I haven’t been able to face them since.”

    Harry didn’t know what to say. She was almost talking to herself at this point, Harry wasn’t even sure she remember he was there. But then she looked at him. “If you take off your glasses… you have your grandad’s ears and grandmum’s eyebrows. Lily got her eyes from our mother’s mother; I’m sort of surprised you inherited them.

    “I was at your parents’ wedding. Your dad and that dogfather of yours were right bastards; Lily had warned them Vernon was iffy about magic and what do they do? ‘Prank him’! Vernon was in the hospital for three weeks for that broken leg! The red and gold hair didn’t go away for a month and the random lion roars didn’t stop for a good six months! It was utterly humiliating! He was fired from his job for ‘unprofessional behavior.’

     “But anyway, I had meant to say that you got your father’s hair—the…style anyway-- and jawline. Those cheekbones looked more like Black’s though and the hair color. I think I heard something about your grandmother or great-grandmother being a Dory… Dorris… Dorea! Dorea Black—that was her name.

    “Now, I need the red casserole dish, then this will be ready for the oven, well, broiler but…”

    She spooned the meat and gravy mixture into the dish then spooned the potatoes evenly on top and slid it into the broiler. She went to the fridge and got out the juice and poured two glasses, sliding one over to Harry, “The food should be done before we could have prepared tea.”

    “So what has that newspaper of yours been reporting if not evil Dark Lord activity?”

     “A bunch of lies. They’re smearing my name and reputation, making me out to be an attention-seeking liar who is a danger to himself and others.” Harry said with derision.

    Petunia tilted her head. “And they’re just… allowed to do that..? To ruin a young boy’s life with hearsay?”

    “What do you mean? I thought they could just say anything they wanted; it’s not like I have parents or anyone to kick up a fuss about it.”

    “…You should look up journalism laws. Your father was quite wealthy, they had a lawyer on retainer I believe.”

    Harry shook his head. “I saw the vault they left for me. I’m stretching it to make sure I have enough for the rest of my schooling and a year or two after it.”

    “Hm. That doesn’t sound right. Have you talked to your goblin?”

     “My…goblin..?”

     “As I heard it, all the old families had their own account manager. I don’t remember the name Lily told me though.”

    She checked on the pie and hummed in satisfaction before putting it down to cool. “Help me set the table?” Harry nodded and soon five place settings were laid out and the cottage pie was sitting enticingly in the middle. A bit of chopped parsley added the needed green to make it even more visually appetizing. They exited the kitchen to find only Vernon. “I’ll go get Dudley and Percival.”

 

 

    When Harry had followed his aunt into the kitchen Percival had stood quietly, contemplating his options before saying, “I would like to speak to Dudley. Privately.”

    Vernon was about to make a big production of it but Dudley quickly slid off the couch and simply said, “We can talk in my room.”

     They had reached the second-story hallway when Percival said, “Actually, it would be better to talk in your cousin’s room; we’re going to need some things and the desk.” Dudley followed him into what had, he remembered, been his _second bedroom_ (and god, how that thought makes him sick now).

     Percival stood before the camp bed and gestured for Dudley to take the desk chair. Once he was seated Percival sat down and steepled his fingers, resting his chin on them and observing Dudley intently. The blond had the strangest sensation of being in a police interrogation room.

     “I want you to tell me the truth. When the light came on, you gasped. Why?”

     “What do you mean, why? There were these… floaty cloak things coming towards us. Their fingers looked all… water-decayed and skeletal and…And they were horrible!”

    “Thank you.” Percival stopped and thought about what he was going to say next. “I… know that you did not grow up… liking magic,” he said slowly, “but… your two worlds, your cousin’s two worlds magical and mundane have merged and there’s no going back, do you understand?” He waited for a nod and continued, “From what I’ve learned… there is war coming and your cousin is a key player. For this reason and others, there will be those who fear him, those who will worship him, those who will wish to use him, those who will want to drag him down, and those who will want to kill him.

     “This ‘disciplinary hearing’ is more than likely an attempt to bring him down before he can gain any real power or support. For this reason… he needs an air tight case. I will of course be there next to him but it will be easier if we compile evidence. Which is why I would like you to make a statement, like a police statement, just write down what happened in your own words.

     “Unlike a non-magical police statement, this one would be magically binding. To do this you would write at the beginning of the statement, ‘I so swear that everything here written is true to the fullest extent of my knowledge,’ then write the statement and sign in your blood. The blood is needed because only you, acting under your own power, can sign it. If someone were to fake either the statement or your signature, they would be punished by magic and the ink would turn liar-blue. It is unmistakable in the Magical World, there’s no other shade like it.

     “Likewise, if anything you write is untrue after swearing it to be true, Magic would punish you appropriately and—”

     “Hold on. You’re talking about magic like it’s… like it’s alive or something.”

    “That’s because it is. It is both a tool and a gift, an energy and a force. It has form and intelligence and blesses… her… people accordingly.”

    “That’s…that’s so cool.”

     “I’m glad you think so. Will you write a statement?”

    “Yeah. Why… why did you ask what I saw?”

    “No-majs can’t see Dementors. You are what is called a Squib. It means that you are in a way, magic-born. You have the ability to see things mundanes can’t. You won’t be able to use a wand but you can make potions. And I’ve heard tales of Squibs being able to harness other types of magic, including earth magic, though I myself have never seen it.”

     “Would you tell me more after I write this? Even though Mum and Dad were so… anti-magic… I… well, what kid doesn’t wish that magic was real or that they had it?”

     So Dudley wrote out his statement and barely flinched when Percival cut him with the pen knife from earlier and explained the importance of blood to him, just as he had to Harry earlier. And that was how Harry found them when he checked upstairs: Dudley leaning forwards with an eagerness and child-like innocence Harry had never seen before, listening as Percival spun fantastic yet educational stories about Magic and traditions and his school days and some tales from unspecified times in his life.

    Dinner was a surprisingly pleasant affair. Every time Vernon looked like he was getting ready to puff up, Petunia glanced sharply at him and he subsided. Conversation was light and about the magical world, not Britain’s wizarding world, but the greater world, the one less prejudiced against blood. Petunia slid in a sly comment to Percival about maybe taking Harry to check his vaults and see what could be done about the journalism situation, not that she said it so bluntly.

    Vernon put his foot down when it came to giving a “freak” the guestroom and no amount of Petunia glaring or Dudley pouting would convince him otherwise. Harry had offered to sleep on the floor but Percival, being used to cramped and much less hospitable sleeping environments said not to worry about it. They had, after all, slept in smaller spaces—not that either of them shared that with the other.

    That night was the first night Harry didn’t wake himself—or everyone else—up in the house screaming. He also didn’t dream of a long, dark corridor. But he woke up with his legs tangled with Percival’s and his hand resting on that strange tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a small nod in there to Gypsy Caravan by Witchdragon. And I totally did not plan that family moment in the kitchen but Petunia and Dudley were both determined to prove they weren't QUITE horrible people. Especially after what Dudley faced and the man who killed her sister being back alive.  
> I'm rereading the book as I write this and... Does anyone else find the Howler bit suspicious? Because it had to have come from Dumbledore, but how did he know what they were discussing and when to send it? And he had to have, because no way could he have timed it so well on a guess that they would react that way. Which leads to the conclusion that he had listening devices in the house, or more likely on Harry.  
> I'm pretty sure we can objectively say, "Dumbledore was a horrible person and embodies the saying, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions.'" But you will more than likely hear my opinions on him as the story progresses; I'm not sure I can actually WRITE an actually 'good' Dumbledore. At the very least he is a criminally negligent manitulative bastard. There, I said it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Percival wait for and then arrive at the Order

    The next few days were surprisingly pleasant in the Dursley household. Especially the hours that Vernon was at work. During this time, Harry, Percival, Dudley, and Petunia sat down in the sunroom and Percival told them all about magic; the different kinds, like earth magic, light magic, grey magic, dark magic, black magic, even white magic. He talked about the different ways to harness and use magic. He talked about the rites and rituals wizards practiced to give back to Magic and the traditional holidays they celebrated to honor their culture and heritage. He talked about what was expected of a young Lord and the political pull Harry would one day have after Harry’s situation was explained to him.

    One morning three days after the Dementor Incident a spectral cheetah appeared in the center of the table and looked at Percival before saying, “ _I’ll be there. I’m sending the documents through Gringott’s along with the owl. For future situations, I’ve decided to relocate to London. Contact me when you can…. It’s good to hear from you, Percy.”_

    A triumphant and savage grin split Percival’s face as the cheetah disappeared. Oh, with Phina’s backing this was going to be _fun._

    “ _Percy?_ ” He heard Harry exclaim with a hint of incredulity. “Who was that? And was that—was that a _patronus?_ How did it talk?”

    “Phina—Seraphina Picquery—has called me that on occasion since our school days. That wasn’t quite the standard Patronus Charm; it was a variation called a Messenger Patronus. It can only be cast by one who can produce a corporeal patronus and the incantation is different; it’s _refero patronum,_ refero meaning, ‘I repeat, or echo, or recount.’”

    “What did she mean, ‘I’ll be there’?”

     “Picquery used to be the President of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, or MACUSA as it’s called, during 1926 and she still has a lot of political influence. One way or another, she’s going to man-handle the British Ministry into being able to attend the hearing. My guess is she’s going to do it with style and a flair for dramatics.” He sighed in envious anticipation, “It’s going to be magnificent.”

     Harry did not like this at all. Oh, sure, he was all for getting help from someone powerful but Percival’s reaction and the nick-names rubbed him wrong. It made his jaw clench and something like anger settle in his stomach before he got distracted by his brain catching up and his Slytherin side putting some clues together. “You said… you said you and she were school mates…and that she was _President_ in _1926_. How is that… how old are you?”

    Percival had known this question—or at least those similar—was coming since he hadn’t particularly been hiding it, wouldn’t have hidden it from Harry. But what exactly to say, and whether to say it in front of his aunt and cousin or not?

    Anyone—everyone—would know that he had been staying here since the attack. Anyone wanting to know about him would just need to come here and look into their minds so no, he couldn’t tell Petunia and Dudley his origins. It would be better obliviate this last bit of the morning from their minds but he wouldn’t do that to them or Harry, not when Harry and his family were just now making amends. He would ask Picquery to commission protective amulets from the goblins to protect them and their minds but as it was he couldn’t risk _this_ information.

    “Let’s go to your room,” he told Harry before turning to Petunia and Dudley, “ I’m sorry but this information…. It would be too easy for someone to retrieve it from your minds and I can’t chance someone using to try to gain control of me.”

    They nodded in understanding as Percival and Harry stood and made their way to his room. Percival set up secrecy wards out of reflex making sure to do it windlessly since he was in such close proximity to Harry before they sat on the bed facing each other.

    “What did you mean, someone could get it from their minds? Can wizards…read minds?”

    “It’s called Legillimency, a legillimens practices Legillimency. The opposing mind art, the practice of closing one’s mind from external attack, is Occlumency. One who practices it is an occlumens and are occluding. It would be a good idea for you to learn to occlude. Among other things, it helps you keep control of your emotions…and makes detecting when you’re lying that much harder to do.”

    Harry nodded, clearly mulling this over. Then he set these thoughts aside and stared at Percival, waiting for him to answer the question he’d asked earlier. But gods, he was handsome. The clothes he was wearing, that he’d arrived in, only emphasized that fact. The slacks, button down shirt, and vest… he’d discarded the tie since the first night but remembering it…. Harry snapped his eyes back up to Percival’s face, locking eyes. However, his eyes wandered of their own accord to the tattoo, drawn to it irresistibly. His hand twitched with the desire to settle his hand over it but he stifled that desire and pulled his eyes back to Percival’s.

    Percival himself had been staring at Harry while he was distracted. Harry was thin but had lean muscles that spoke of regular physical activity, though he also appeared to have gone through a fairly significant growth spurt recently. His hair, as Percival was coming to find, was an absolute mess and Percival honestly wasn’t sure if cutting it shorter or growing longer would help with that. The scar on his forehead looked impossibly fresh and Percival had noticed that it would on occasion looked even more irritated and raw. The scar prickled every one of Percival’s Auror-trained reflexes. He had spent a long time handling and hunting down Black Magic artifacts and that scar gave Percival a _really_ bad feeling. Harry’s eyes were a brilliant green but those glasses needed to go if Harry was going to be going into battle and even if Percival would rather Harry didn’t, he knew it would be naïve to expect or even hope to stay on the sidelines of this war.

    “I am… physically sixteen years old. However… I’m out of my time. Before I was… de-aged, I was 40 years old and the Director of Magical Security at MACUSA. I worked closely with Seraphina and my aurors. In… In 1926, I was ambushed and held captive by Gellert Grindlewald. He assumed my identity for reasons I still don’t know. I can only guess he needed the freedom to work unquestioned and the power to give orders to the whole of the MACUSA Security Department but I digress. He held me for… weeks, months maybe. He was the only human interaction I had, when he came to feed or taunt and torture me. But a few weeks ago he stopped coming. I starved.

    “I was dying; I could feel it. Every cell in my body, my soul, telling me that it was time. And that’s when They came. They didn’t really introduce Themselves to me but I learned who—what—They were. They appeared as a man and a woman, told me They were gods, showed me it too. The male’s identity was Death and the female was Magic. They… ‘offered’ me a second life. But the one I would have would be out of my time, fighting to bring down a different Dark Lord. My main… goals, I suppose you could say, are to bring Magic back. She told me that Wizarding Britain had stagnated and Her people were losing their connection to her. I’m to help with this, and to cause problems and general mayhem for a lot of people, ideally as They put it, for ‘a certain meddler.’”

     “Is that what your tattoo is? A sign of them doing…whatever. Or you working as their agent?”

     What a time for Harry to start asking discerning questions, Percival thought. “Not as such. Death marked me with it. Said it was a red herring for the meddler, to keep him distracted. And that I was… a… gift… to His favored and that for those who knew of such things, it would tell them who I belonged to.”

    If the thing with Picquery had settled a fire-like anger in his gut, the idea that Percival _belonged to_ someone was like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. “And _who_ … do you… _belong to_?” Harry asked icily.

    Percival _really_ didn’t want to answer. He didn’t really want their dynamic to change so soon. What they had—what they were building—whatever _that_ was—would change irrevocably if Harry knew that Percival was, for all intents and purposes, _his._ But refusing to answer would also… break this fragile little thing before it even had a chance to become anything. It would be best if Harry figured it out on his own, but Percival couldn’t see that happening, not with the way this was playing out.

    “It’s the Mark of the Master of Death, who…technically hasn’t…taken up the mantle yet..?”

    “That’s not really an answer, Percival. And I don’t know who or what the Master of Death is.” Harry replied tonelessly.

    Percival winced slightly. “There are three magical objects: a Cloak of Invisibly, the Resurrection Stone, and the Elder Wand, said to have been gifted to three brothers by Death itself. The one who unites and masters all three is the Master of Death. Death said that in every universe it is the same person who becomes the Master of Death and is Death’s favored. He said I was a gift because his favored needed someone that would always be on his side, to teach him and care for him.”

    Harry mulled that over, only slightly appeased. So… it didn’t necessarily have to be a romantic connotation, did it..? Wait… what was Harry thinking? Romantic…. Was he—no. He couldn’t be… attracted to Percival like—like _that_ , could he? He—he liked girls—like—like Cho Chang and—and—and he couldn’t really think of any other girls. I mean sure, he thought some guys were handsome like Diary Tom Riddle and Oliver Wood and Cedric but that was just—that was because it was a fact, right? Not because he _liked guys._ He suddenly didn’t want to know more about this Master of Death situation.

    “Harry?” Asked Percival, concerned. Harry’s face had shifted through a multitude of emotions and Percival honestly didn’t understand what he was thinking right now. He was afraid of what this meant though.

   Harry cleared his throat and stopped thinking. “I’m… I’m fine. Just…thinking something.”

   Percival nodded cautiously. “Well, there’s… not much else to the story. I accepted their offer and when I got my bearings I was in the park right before the Dementors showed up.”

   “So, you came from 1926? What was that like? You were the Director of Magical Security? Is that anything like being an Auror?”

    And like that, they whiled away the rest of the morning. They had a pleasant lunch with Petunia and Dudley and they spent the afternoon playing board games, in which Petunia totally wiped the floor with them, even with Harry and Percival teaming up together and Dudley shamelessly cheating.

    Shortly after dinner, two owls and the Muggle mail carrier showed up, never mind that it was getting dark. The first owl was a magnificent beast made for speed and hunting and was wearing an official Gringott’s messenger harness and was accompanied by Hedwig, who looked rather put out for not having anything to deliver.

    Percival let the bird draw blood on his finger and smear it on the flap of the letter carrying compartment. It glowed golden and unlatched. He waved a hand absently clean any remaining blood and reached in to lift out the thick bundle of parchment inside. He looked down at the note on top, hand-written by Picquery saying:

            _Just in case someone tries to separate you from young Mr. Potter, you can bring up Section 13 subsection 26-A, commonly referred to as Cases of ‘No Coincidence’ in ICW Rulings of 1557. It states that if a Temporally or Dimensionally Displaced being arrives in said time/dimension in time to save another from mortal peril, then it is assumed they have been placed when and where due to divine action. The one thus saved is then legally responsible to the integration and general well-being of the Displaced and to try to separate the saved from the Displaced is an act of treason and the placing cannot be overridden by any one government or entity or establishment._

_However, for added protection since you are now bodily underaged, I believe it would be wise if you would accept to be under my guardianship. I will help you in any way I can, please know this._

_Seraphina Picquery_

    He looked up when he heard the triumphant noise Vernon Dursley let out. “Look here, Pet! We’ve won the All-England Best-Kept Suburban Lawn Competition! Take _that,_ Number Seven! This calls for our Sunday best!” And with that he clambered up the stairs.

    Petunia’s hands were fluttering nervously up near her mouth. “Oh dear,” she was saying. “You know he won’t allow you to come with us.”

    Even though she was talking to Harry, it was Percival who answered, “Considering the time the letter came and the…utterly…long and mundane name, it’s probably a ploy to get you all out of the house so whoever it is can come pick up Harry without being worried about breaking the Statute of Secrecy.”

    “So it’s not an actual competition?” She asked, only a little disappointed; Number Seven really did need to be taken down a few pegs about their lawn.

    “Probably not but it _is_ in London, so you could turn it into a nice dinner out and a sort of family outing.”

    “That… that does sound nice.”

    “You should go get ready. Harry and I will do the same. They’ll probably come when it’s completely dark.”

     Harry didn’t have a whole lot to pack, just his parchment and writing utensils, some books for the summer he was so bored he actually started doing, and his clothes. Percival took one look at them, none of them of any quality and announced that Harry would be getting new clothes, mundane and magical and special robes for the hearing. When Harry tried to convince him it wasn’t necessary, that he was fine in his clothes, Percival told him that he was the Heir of a Noble House and needed to start acting and dressing like it, which did not include wearing ragged hand-me-downs and school-standard robes.

    When Vernon tried to lock them in Harry’s room Petunia finally cried, “For heaven’s sake, Vernon! They aren’t going to burn the place down! We are not going to lock a guest in a room simply because we are leaving! Those two are responsible enough to house sit and I won’t hear a word more on this matter, unless you _want_ to sleep in the guest room for the next month?!” Vernon promptly stuttered a syrup-sweet apology and agreed with his wife and then they were out the door.

    Harry and Percival just looked at each other before Harry said, “So, should we wait for them in my room or down stairs?”

    “Down stairs would probably be better. Bring your trunk down here. We can wait for them in the sunroom. I have some reading to do while we wait. By the way, did you keep all those newspapers from this summer? I’ll need to read those as well.”

    So they sat, Percival catching up with significant events and the current political climate and Harry doing his summer homework. Percival’s arrival had somehow sparked that Slytherin side of him that he had beaten into submission from years in the house of lions; he found himself questioning things more deeply and that ambition that had died a painful and slow death in primary school roared back to life with a vengeance. No longer did he wish to just coast through his classes. No. He would _learn._ He would _achieve_ and he would do himself _proud_. So along with the usual homework, he was going back over his textbooks from the previous years and he was astonished by just how much he had missed, primarily magical theory.

   At one point Harry got up to make tea and Percival joined him, getting up to stretch and make sandwiches for them before they returned to the table with the drinks and food. It was a comfortable silence, peaceful in a way Harry had rarely encountered except for when he roamed the halls at Hogwarts at night by himself. Nothing against Ron and Hermione but they had… very loud presences. Them just being near him, even if everyone was quiet—or in Ron’s case, as quiet as they ever got—it was like their thoughts or auras or presences, whichever it was, battered against him and his mind. Percival’s presence wasn’t intrusive, it was just steady and seemed to offer a silent support if he wanted it.

    Percival felt his spine stiffen as he felt the presence of magicals enter the garden. “They’re here,” he replied to Harry’s questioning look. They packed up as quickly as possible and were waiting across the room at the doorway to the hall, slightly hidden from view of the back door before the lock clicked open.

    Voices drifted towards them and Harry couldn’t help but mutter, “They’re not very quiet, these escorts.” Percival let out a silent snort and Harry grinned back. Percival smirked before saying, “Get behind the wall; they might let off spells,” as his hand started inching towards the light switch giving Harry plenty of time to get what his plan was and ducking behind the corner.

    As light flooded the kitchen there was shouts, bordering on pandemonium, and there was indeed a light show. Harry doubled over in silent laughter as Percival grinned like the cat that got the canary. They schooled their expressions before Harry’s eye suddenly sparked with mischief and he smirked then adopted an innocent expression. He led the way, raising his wand, after all even if they were expecting someone to pick them up it could have been _anyone_ actually entering his house.

    “Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone’s eye out. You already damn near blinded us,” a low, growling voice said. Even though Harry had never _actually_ met the man, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

     Harry put his innocent face back on, “But you could have been _anyone_ , Professor Moody.” He could practically _feel_ Percival smirking at his back.

    Moody threw his head back and released a great booming laugh. “Good lad, CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Though I don’t know much about the ‘Professor’ part; didn’t get around to much teaching, did I?”

    “It’s all right, Harry. We’ve come to take you away.” Harry knew that voice too, though he hadn’t heard it for more than a year. He had been a bit distracted with Moody to really pay attention to the rest of the people gathered in the kitchen but yes, there was Professor Lupin.

     In all, there were eight wizards and witches. A young woman with violently violet was talking about how Harry looked exactly like she thought he would. The sentiment was echoed by a bald black wizard standing in the back who, like pretty much everyone else commented that Harry looked like his dad with his mum’s eyes. This used to make him happy but at this point it was getting to be a bit tiresome; no one seemed to see him for _him,_ just how much he was or wasn’t like his parents. And after the talk with Aunt Petunia about where _all_ his features came from, he found the comparison to only his dad a bit lacking.

    “Are you quite sure it’s him, Lupin?” Mad-Eye suddenly growled. “It’d be a nice lookout if we bring back a Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?”

    “And how do we know _you all_ aren’t the ones impersonating? It would make much more sense for this to be a plot to kidnap Harry than for it to be a plot to get Death Eaters into…wherever it is you’re taking us,” Percival said as he stepped fully into their view.

    Wands immediately went up and focused on the two of them. Harry and Percival hadn’t really lowered their wands in the first place so they were at a bit of a stand-still. “And who… might you be?” Moody growled even more deeply than before. As if that could intimidate Percival Graves.

    “He’s the one that drove the Dementors off. _He_ produced the Patronus and saved my cousin and me. And he’s coming with me; he’s not leaving my side.”

    If anything this just made Moody more suspicious. He moved his wand to point solely at Percival’s heart. “Just showed up out of the blue, did he? Just in time to come to your rescue. Think, boy! This could’ve been a plot to get him into your good graces, make you feel indebted to him—and it worked too!”

     Percival’s eyebrow rose. “If it eases your mind any,” he said, raising the tip of his wand so that it pointed heavenwards, “I, Percival Graves, so swear that I mean Harry Potter no harm. In all his best interests will I act. So mote it be.” His magic was pushing him for a more binding Vow but he would not— _could not_ —swear it in front of Dumbledore’s people. He didn’t want to think about what Dumbledore would do if he realized Harry had someone loyal completely to him. As it was, swearing to act in Harry’s best interests was toeing a line. Thankfully most of these people would only take it as a reassurance and comfort.

    “So, Percival Graves, is it? And how did you come to be in the exact place and at the exact time to be able to show up and save Potter?”

    “Now that would be telling,” Percival said, holstering his wand. He’d taken the time to analyze their magic and they were all light except for Moody, who verged on dark—though there was a steel to his magic that spoke of strong morals, probably an auror; Percival himself was deeply grey—and the man with the prematurely graying hair and scars, whose core had a creeping Dark that spoke of creature magic. The violet-haired woman’s core was interesting: it spiked and twisted, morphed and flowed, never settling; he was interested to see what her abilities were.

    Harry, following Percival’s lead, went to tuck his wand in his back pocket when Moody yelled, “Don’t put your wand there, boy! What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!”

    “Who d’you know who’s lost a buttock?” the violet-haired woman asked Mad-Eye interestedly. His response, a “never you mind” elicited chuckles and worked wonderfully to break the lingering tension.

    “Remind me to also get you a wand holster, you really do need one. Did no one tell you about them?” Percival asked Harry lowly.

    Harry shook his head. “I didn’t know proper wand care until last year; I didn’t know we were supposed to clean it or that there was such a thing as wand wax in the first place. No one’s really ever really told me anything; they just kind of explain it once I encounter it.” Percival frowned but nodded anyways and turned back to the group.

    Some of them were riffling through the kitchen. Harry’s face twitched. “Could you please not mess around in a home that isn’t yours simply because you happen to be standing in it? It is not a curiosities’ museum.” Harry said loudly.  The ones doing so stepped back, their faces going red. Harry shook his head exasperatedly.

    Percival’s lips twitched. The scarred one introduced everyone. “So,” Percival said, “we’re leaving. How are we getting wherever it is we’re going and why are there so many people escorting us there?”

    “We’re the advance guard. You never know what information’s been leaked to the enemy, boy, and we weren’t going to leave Potter unprotected.”

    “So you planned this in advance…. How are we getting there?”

    Lupin cut Moody off when he looked to be getting ready to shout, “Brooms. Only way. Harry’s too young to Apparate, they’ll be watching the Floo Network, and it’s more than our life’s work to set up an unauthorized portkey.”

    Percival thought about the words he wanted to say very carefully. If this idea had been proposed by one of his aurors for the transportation of a V.I.P.  he would have very concisely thought exactly what he thought of the plan and demoted them to wand permit for a month.

    “Brooms,” he said carefully, slowly, weighing each word, “in a Muggle-populated area, on a clear night with the moon bright, eight guards—in the advance guard only, doubtless there is at least one more team—all planned ahead, without informing Harry when….

    “There are…so many holes in this plan that it is a bit ridiculous. The whole plan is ridiculous actually. You see, a large group of people only attention. The chance of a Muggle sighting people _flying on brooms_ is so phenomenally high that it’s a wonder you even gave a passing thought to the Statute of Secrecy.

   “ Instead of a quick in-and-out operation, you’ve wasted time by not informing Harry to be ready and pack, not to mention we’re wasting time right now just talking but I digress. Harry being too young to Apparate? Yes, but that is literally what Side-Along Apparation was made for—to transport a minor using Apparation.

    “This… is not even the sort of thing you need a plan to pull off. You should have sent a short note saying ‘get ready to leave’ and at any time after that you could have simply been struck by the idea of, ‘oh I think now is the perfect time to collect Potter.’ No one could possible intercept that plan since there _was no plan_ , just going…and getting him. I really don’t his relatives would have put up a huge fuss over not having to deal with him for the rest of the summer if you had approached them in a no-maj fashion instead of rubbing magic in their faces.”

    Everyone seemed to be a bit gob smacked by the cool use of logic to completely shoot down and obliterate the plan that had been the culmination of all their work these last few days. Harry was fighting not to laugh. He, himself, once he gave the plan some thought and put away the excitement of getting to fly, also had to agree that their plan had all the dramatics and unneeded flair of a plot that would make Voldemort proud. “Plus,” Percival tacked on, “I don’t have a broom.” Which was when Harry couldn’t hold it in anymore and he was bent double with tears streaming down his face from laughing so hard.

    Finally, he brought himself under control, still occasionally gasping as he tried to straighten up. “Fine,” Mad-Eye grumbled. “We’ll Side-Along the two of them. I’ll take Graves, Lupin will take Potter. Vance, Diggle, Doge, Podmore go back to headquarters. Jones, tell the rear guard the change of plans. Tonks, Shacklebolt you’ll accompany us. I want at least five jumps—from everyone!—before heading to headquarters.”

    They all nodded. Moody went to grab Graves, whose body reacted before his mind had even caught up to what Moody was about to do, too busy seeing a different pair of hands grabbing for him and then Moody was on his knees, Percival’s knee in his back, hand in a controlling hold and wrist broken. The others were shocked; they’d barely even seen Graves move.

    Harry walked up to them. “Percival,” he said quietly. He didn’t seem to have heard, his eyes far away and something dark in his eyes. He looked like a cornered man. Or at least his eyes did, to Harry, his face was utterly emotionless. Harry reached over letting his instincts guide him, ignoring Lupin who was trying to tell Harry not to touch Percival that it was dangerous, and rested his hand on Percival’s Mark. Percival gave a shuddering shiver and his eyes cleared. He immediately stepped back and dropped to his knees in front of Harry in submission, still not completely in control of his bodily responses. Harry gulped and a shudder made its way up his spine but he didn’t fully understand what was passing between them in this moment. He wasn’t quite sure how to break this tableau of theirs either but relied on his instincts again, brushing the back of his fingers over the Mark, his fingers travelling up to the underside of Percival’s chin, silently urging him to his feet. Percival followed the cues flawlessly. “Percival,” Harry said quietly again, letting power seep into his voice.

    Percival’s eyes cleared and he didn’t take them off of Harry until someone—Lupin—cleared their throat. Turning his head, eyes still on Percival’s until he pulled them slowly away and he looked at the people looking on in various states of embarrassment or interest. Still following his instincts—this, what had happened, what was between Percival and he, was not meant for others—he let more power fill his voice as he said, “No one may speak or communicate in any fashion what has just happened. So I’ve proclaimed, so Magic mote it be.” They felt the magic binding them to Harry’s Words and were stunned once again.

    “Well,” Lupin awkwardly cleared his throat again. “We should—we should get going.”

    “Good reflexes on you, laddie,” Moody grunted getting to his feet. “Auror-level, at least. Protect with that.” He nodded towards Harry. Percival inclined his head in acknowledgement, not quite ready to talk yet.

    Lupin fixed Moody’s wrist and the others went about their tasks. They apparated a total of seven times before coming to an alleyway. “Stay put,” Moody ambled forwards and took a small silver device from his pocket and flicked it open. The closest street lamp went out, then the subsequent ones as he repeated the action. “Come on out now. Potter, Graves, read this and memorize it.”

   Harry was handed a small slip of parchment, tilting it for Percival to read. It narrow somewhat familiar handwriting was:

      **_The Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place_**

   Harry opened his mouth to ask just what the Order of the Phoenix was when Percival squeezed his shoulder and shook his head slightly.

    “Got it memorized?” Moody asked. “Good.” He pulled the parchment from Harry’s hand and set fire to it with his wand-tip. “Now come on.”

    They exited the alley and came to a stop before Number 11 and Number 13. He looked at Percival who said into his ear, “think of the parchment; they wouldn’t have handed it to you for no reason. Sometimes you get more answers by not asking and just observing.”

    Harry nodded, trying not to be distracted by the heat of Percival’s body being so close to his and the sound of his voice being spoken directly into his ear, and concentrated on the words he had read earlier. It was as if an extra house had been inflated between 11 and 13. An extremely unkempt and dirty house.

    Moody nudged them forwards. The door was black peeling paint and a tarnished silver knocker fashioned as a serpent. There was no keyhole or doorknob. Lupin tapped it with his wand and it opened.

   All in all, the inside was just as grimy and depressing as the outside. He saw Percival look around in mild revulsion and tuck his hands closer to his body to avoid touching anything. Harry couldn’t help the small curl at the edges of his lips or the way he brushed the back of his hand against Percival’s. When Percival looked at him he just shrugged and followed as the group began to tip toe down the hall.

   Mrs. Weasley bustled in from a side door and caught sight of the group. Harry was immediately swept into a bone-crushing hug before she pulled back and whisper-exclaimed, “Oh, Harry! It’s so good to see you dear! I thought you wouldn’t be here until much later. Oh, you’re looking a tad peaky; you need feeding up. I’ll get you a sandwich real quick dear. Dinner won’t be for a while yet, I’m afraid but a single sandwich shouldn’t hurt your appetite. Now dear, the others are upstairs if you’ll just follow—”

    She had caught sight of Percival at that moment so before her questions could start Harry introduced him, “This is Percival Graves, my friend. He also saved me from the Dementors.”

    “Oh. Well, then. I suppose we’re all in your debt Mr. Graves. I’m sure my children will be delighted to meet you.” She started to turn to lead them up the stairs when Percival said, “Actually, Ma’am, Harry and I have something we need to discuss in private, is there anywhere we could do that?”

    She looked at them, scanning their faces and body language with all the skill of a mother of seven, looking for signs of anything…amiss. Finding nothing that would indicate imminent shenanigans, she nodded and turned a sharp left she deposited them in a parlour-like room and told them to look for her in the kitchen which was straight past the stairs on the ground floor. She warned them not to make too much noise, when asked why she told them there was a portrait no one could remove that, when someone made any sort of loud noise, woke up and made an unholy racket.

   Finally they were left alone. Percival set up privacy and anti-eavesdropping wards. Since Harry didn’t really know what Percival wanted to talk about, except maybe the whole thing that happened in the kitchen, he just stayed silent and watched Percival.

   Percival wasn’t quite sure how to start this or what exactly he wanted to say. He just knew that his magic was still pushing him and his instincts hadn’t fully settled and there was only one thing to do and he and Harry both needed the added protection this would offer him. So he took a deep breath and looked at Harry. “You know what happened earlier. You might not understand it but you know what happened. We are… irrevocably bound. When making the oath earlier, my magic was pushing me for more but as you said earlier, what’s between us is meant only for us, and thus it wasn’t the right time. But what I’m about to do next will be added protection for the both of us, which is why I wanted to do it as soon as possible. Because some, if not most, will not like that a virtual stranger appeared out of nowhere and is suddenly beside their boy-saviour, that I have his ear and he listens to me. So please, follow what your magic tells you to do next.”

    And with that he knelt and, letting his magic fill and guide his words, intoned, “I, Percival Eleazar Graves, so swear my life and loyalty to you, Harry James Potter. I will act as your Sword and as your Shield. Ever in your best interests will I act.  I will follow you in life and to death. So I have Sworn, so Magic mote it be.”

    Harry’s eyes glowed with an unearthly power as he laid one hand upon Percival’s head and the other upon the Mark. “I, Harry James Potter, accept your life and loyalty, Percival Eleazar Graves, and so vow loyalty and truth in turn. Never will I turn from you and never will I betray you. You will be held above all others, as an extension of my will and my body. So I have Vowed, so Magic mote it be.”

    Magic filled the air, binding them together with heavy cords of silver, gold, and crimson. The wave of power swept through the house and Magic showed her Blessing by cleaning and repairing the place top to bottom. She left the magics intact since all, even the Blackest of Arts, were Hers.

    Percival got to his feet and looked around. “That was unexpected,” he said.

    Harry laughed, half from incredulity from the understatement and half from the rush, “At least now you won’t have to keep your hands practically glued to your sides to keep from touching anything.”

    “A good thing too. Could you imagine trying to sleep in a place that was that filthy?”

    “I’ve slept in worse. Not much worse, mind you, but yeah.”

    “I’ve slept in worse too. Much worse. Which is why, if I ever have a choice about it, I never will again.”

    Just then the door banged open and a familiar face with long black hair frantically entered the room. “Harry! Molly told me you and your friend were in here. Are you alright? Nothing bad happened? You’re safe?”

    The rapid fire questions enough to make Harry’s head spin, add to that the hug Sirius gave him, and he couldn’t even think how to reply. Percival’s eyebrow was twitching though.

    “I’m fine. Just a bit confused about the sudden cleanliness of the place. What are you doing here?”

    “Hasn’t anyone told you? This is House Black. Since I’m the last one, this is all mine. I offered it to Dumbledore as headquarters for the Order. About the only useful thing I’ve been able to do,” he added bitterly.

    Harry didn’t really know how to respond. After all, Sirius was an adult; it wasn’t really his job to comfort an adult about his life choices had led him to a rather shitty living situation. So instead he just turned to Percival and said, “Sirius, this is my (Sword and Shield, he wanted to say) friend, Percival Graves. Percival, this is my godfather, Sirius Black.”

    They sort of looked each other over and Harry had the distinct impression of two territorial cats circling each other before Sirius held out a hand for Percival to shake.

   “Now, you kiddos should be hungry, yeah? Molly said she was making some sandwiches for you and since the meeting hasn’t started yet, you two can come to the kitchen, grab them, and then go say hi to the rest of your friends. Assuming you’ve finished your talk.” He gave them a look that said he clearly didn’t believe much talking had been involved. Harry and Percival just levelled unimpressed looks his way. Sirius just shrugged and held up his hands in a ‘hey, if you don’t want to admit it’ way. Harry rolled his eyes and followed him.

    The basement kitchen was a large, cavernous space mostly light by the large fireplace at the end of the room. Or it would have been if the previously undiscovered chandelier and wall torches hadn’t ignited when they walked in.

    There were a quite a few people seated at the table Harry saw, including Mr. Weasley, Bill Weasley, their ‘advance guard’, and Severus Snape. The latter of which sneered when he saw them, though his eyebrow _almost_ canted upwards at the sight of Percival.

    Percival himself was busy cataloguing the different cores, the room and surroundings, possible weapons, who seemed trustworthy or useful, etc. when he felt it. As Harry’s Sword and Shield he could feel any who were also sworn in some way to Harry and the man with the lank, greasy hair and large, crooked nose was definitely sworn to protect Harry, at least…some…facet of him. It felt as if he had sworn to a title of Harry’s and not to _Harry himself_ but an idea of him. And there was also some other magic tied in to it… a… an inherited life debt..? How…interesting.

    But he was glaring and sneering at Harry and that just wouldn’t do so Percival subtly put his hand at the base of Harry’s neck in a protective and possessive gesture and stared the man down, his gaze promising that he would beg for mercy long before Percival granted it if he didn’t stop it _this. Instant._

    The man’s eyebrow rose but their staring contest was broken when Molly Weasley started shrieking. “Sirius Black, _what_ do you think you are _doing?!_ ”

    Sirius gave her a nonplussed look. “Bringing my godson and his friend to the kitchen so they can get those sandwiches and go upstairs, Molly. Why, did you think I was intending for them to sit in on this Order meeting? The one that isn’t supposed to start for a good few hours, I might add.”

    “Oh. Well, then. In that case, Harry, Percival, here’s those sandwiches; I just finished them. I can take you up—”

    “I’ll do it, Molly.” She seemed unimpressed and vaguely doubtful but turned back to her culinary work, preparing snacks for those seated and for the meeting later. “Come on boys.”

    The sandwiches were very good, Percival had to admit. When they got to the hall he motioned them to be quiet, they stopped in front of heavy velvet curtains and Sirius explained in little more than a breath, “My mother’s portrait. When there’s any noise the curtains fly open and she starts screeching. She was a pureblood fanatic and towards the end, utterly insane. So whatever you do, don’t make loud noises especially in the hall. Gods, I can’t believe I’m saying that.” He shook his head sadly.

   As he approached a series of doors he said, “We had planned on you and Ron sharing a room, Harry. But I guess we should redo the sleeping arrangements.”

    “I would prefer to room with Harry,” Percival said. At the smirk beginning on Sirius’ face he added, “He is the only one I know, after all.”

    “Sure, sure; that’s all it is, sure. Well, I suppose we can move Ron to the Twins’ room and try that but that might only last a few days; they’ve been experimenting and will probably use Ron as a test subject, willing or not. My guess is he’ll last a day, maybe two. Then you’ll have to share with him. There’re only two beds though…” He trailed off leadingly.

    “We can always get someone to transfigure an extra bed,” Percival deadpanned.

 Sirius pouted a little before stopping in front of a door. “Well, here it is.” He opened it and Percival and Harry managed all of one step each inside before Harry was assaulted by a giant ball of brown frizz—wait, no, that was a girl with _very_ bushy hair. Percival scanned the rest of the room before his gaze was caught on a portrait. He grabbed Sirius by the elbow as the man turned to leave and asked him, “Whose portrait is that on the wall?”

    Sirius made a humming noise as he considered it. “That’s Phineas Nigellus Black. Last popular headmaster of Hogwarts. Why do you ask?”

    “Just curious,” Percival said, letting go of the man and turning back to Harry. Sirius shrugged and left the kids to it. Percival knew that there were portraits of all the previous headmasters of Hogwarts in the headmaster’s office; he had been—forcibly—given a tour of his friend, Theseus Scamander’s alma mater. He also knew that all of one’s portraits were linked together such as say, all the pictures on Chocolate Frog cards or the portrait in one’s ancestral home and previous work office. What was peculiar was that this portrait was _in a bedroom._ It made considerably more sense when one recognized who had been planned to stay in this room. Percival had no doubt that it was placed here to specifically spy on Harry—and his friends.

    Speaking of Harry and his friends, the fluffy haired girl was going on _and on_ about how they wanted to tell Harry but Dumbledore swore them not to tell him anything. He could see Harry getting steadily angrier, reminded of his recent frustration regarding his friends and being completely cut off from anything in the magical world. What really caught his attention was when the girl said Dumbledore didn’t want Harry to know _anything_. Percival thought Harry’s question of, “So why’s Dumbledore so keen to keep me in the dark?” sort of hit the nail on the head. But Harry exploding at his friends wouldn’t much help anything, he had just put those feelings of frustration to rest after all, so he did what he thought would nicely derail the conversation, startle Harry out of his anger, state a subtle claim, and bring attention to his existence. So He walked up behind Harry, pressing his front against Harry’s back and draping his arms over Harry’s shoulders. As he had thought, Harry startled, looking up and back at him. He tilted his head, briefly catching Harry’s gaze before turning back to his friends, whose jaws had dropped a bit. He felt Harry’s tense muscles relax before Harry said, “Guys, this is Percival Graves. He saved me from the Dementors and he’s my friend.” Percival stepped back, lifting his arms from Harry and came to stand beside him. “Percival, these are my best friends”—his tone made it clear to Percival that that status was severely being reconsidered at the moment—“Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.”

    Showing all the manners his pureblood upbringing demanded, he shook Ron’s hand and kissed Hermione’s knuckles which caused a blush from her and jealousy from the other two. Who they were jealous over was up in the air though.

    They stood around a bit awkwardly before Harry made his way over to a bed and sat down, Percival following him. “So… what’s been going on? You said in your letters you’d tell me when I got here and I’m here.”

    Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. Dumbledore didn’t want Harry to know anything _indeed,_ Percival thought. “Well, we’re not allowed to attend to meetings so we don’t really…” Hermione trailed off.

    Harry sighed heavily. “I meant, what’s going on, that you can tell me about? How have you been, what have you been doing? That sort of thing.”

    They blushed and started talking about how they’ve been trying to decontaminate the house when a loud crack echoed through the room. Hermione had shrieked and the other two had jumped but Percival had his wand drawn and trained on the two who had just appeared in the bedroom. They had been grinning before they noticed the deathly stare and wand on them. “Um, Harry..?” they said worriedly.

    Harry was on Percival’s left but reached his arms behind him and soothingly dragged his fingers across the Mark. “Percival, these are the Weasley twins Fred”—he pointed to the one on the left—“and George.” He pointed to the one on the right. When they tried to protest that the other was Fred/George Harry said quietly to Percival, “Don’t let them confuse you; I was right. If you pay attention you’ll know who is who, I just provided the baseline for you.” Percival nodded and committed the slightly different feeling cores to memory so he could tell them apart later.

    “Please stop doing that,” Hermione said weakly.

    The twins ignored her and plunked down on the bed with Harry and Percival. It was a tight fit but the twins seemed to take pleasure from causing most everyone around them discomfort.

    The door opened again and yet _another_ redhead entered the room, a girl this time. She sort of squeaked when she saw Percival but she entered the room anyways with a “Hi, Harry. I thought I heard your voice,” as she went to the other bed where Ron and Hermione were sitting.

    “Hey, Ginny; this is Percival Graves. Percival, Ginerva, or Ginny, Weasley. She’s a year down from Ron, Hermione, and me in Hogwarts.”

    “Oh?” Hermione said. “Are you going to Hogwarts this year?”

    “Yes, I will be. I’m sixteen but my birthday is November 13th, so I will be in fifth year with Harry and you.”

    “Any idea what house you’ll be in? You do know the houses, right? Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin; the houses of knowledge, courage, loyalty, and cunning, respectively.”

    “Come on, Hermione, why would he want to be a slimy snake? Everyone knows they’re evil little Death-Eaters-In- Training.”

    “A whole House, a whole _fourth of the school_ , is evil?” Percival asked with incredulity and barely concealed scorn.

   “Well, yeah!”

    “And I suppose… all wizards that ‘go Dark’ are Slytherin and none from the other houses at all?” The scorn was no longer veiled. Harry thought that maybe he should stop this before it turned into a row, with Ron red-faced and refusing to talk to Harry because Harry’s friend had spoken to him that way and Harry should always take Ron’s side and have his back, even if Ron rarely if ever did the same for him. But Harry was getting more in touch with his Slytherin characteristics and Percival’s unbiased views were helping him to realize that being cunning and ambitious wasn’t something to be ashamed of, that being _fully himself_ , was nothing to be ashamed of.

    And the whole ‘all Slytherins are evil’ spiel that he had fallen for at eleven no longer seemed true. Why vilify an entire house, _which included eleven-year-olds,_ as evil just because one Dark Lord and a legend so old it could have started out as _anything_ before turning into the pureblood fanatic legend of today, and the fact that some of the traditional pureblood families that had been tricked into serving the aforementioned Dark Lord, all came out of that house.

    There were plenty of other pureblood families that didn’t go to Slytherin and Harry was sure at least some of those were pureblood supremacists. He was sure not all of Voldemort’s followers were from Slytherin, a prime example being that rat, Pettigrew.

    He suddenly cut into Ron’s well-ingrained prejudice rant with a thought that came to mind, “I wonder if all those proud pureblood supremacists know that they’re bowing down and kissing the hem of a ‘filthy halfblood’ as they would call him. After all, they call me that but at least my mother had magic. Tom Riddle’s father was a Muggle. So by their logic, his blood would be even dirtier than mine,” he mused. “It would be a right laugh to be there if any of them ever found out.”

     The others, minus Percival seemed stunned, before the twins burst out howling. “Oh my gods!” they exclaimed between laughs, “Could you imagine Proud Peacocking Malfoy’s face as he found out he was branded by a ‘mudblood’! It would be priceless! We could probably sell pictures of it!”

    They all had a good laugh, Percival looking amused, even as Hermione tried to scold them for language. When the laughing petered off Harry asked, “So, how’s the rest of your family? I saw Bill in the kitchen.”

    George answered, “Yeah, Bill and Charlie are both in the Order. Bill took a desk job so he could be here and do more for the Order. Of course, it might not be only being closer to home that’s a benefit for him.”

    Fred cut in, “He seems to be giving Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour an _awful lot_ of private English lessons these days after she got a job at Gringott’s to _elp eemproove ‘air EEnglish_.”

    George took over again, “Charlie’s still in Romania. Dumbledore said he wants as many foreign wizards as possible, so Charlie’s trying to make contacts on his days off.”

    “Couldn’t Percy do that?” Harry asked since the last he knew that Weasley was working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Harry instantly regretted asking as the others in the room exchanged darkly significant looks.

    “Whatever you do, don’t mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad,” Ron told Harry in a tense voice.

    Harry hated to ask, but one doesn’t walk around a battleground without knowing where the landmines were. “Why not?”

   “Because every time Percy’s name is mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he’s holding and Mum starts crying,” Fred answered.

    “That…must have been…some row…. What happened?”

    “It was the first week back after term ended,” Ron said. “We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he’d been promoted. He was really pleased with himself—even more pleased than usual if you can imagine that—and told Dad he’d been offered a position in Fudge’s own office. A really good one for only a year out of Hogwarts—and that _with_ the mess with Crouch last year; Junior Assistant to the Minister. I think he expected Dad to be all impressed.”

    “Only Dad wasn’t,” Fred said grimly.

    “Why not?” Harry asked.

    “Well, apparently Fudge has been storming round the Ministry checking that nobody’s been having contact with Dumbledore,” said George.

    “Dumbledore’s name is mud with the Ministry these days, see,” said Fred. “They all think he’s just making trouble saying You-Know-Who’s back.”

    “Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who’s in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks.”

    “Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he’s friendly with Dumbledore, and he’s always thought Dad’s a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession. And Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family and Dumbledore.”

    Harry let out a low whistle. “Bet Percy loved that.”

    Ron let out a hollow laugh. “He went completely berserk. He said—well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he’s been having to struggle against Dad’s lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad’s got no ambition and that’s why we’ve always been—you know—not had a lot of money, I mean—”

   “ _What?”_ Harry asked in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

   “I know,” Ron said lowly. “And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going down with him, and that he—Percy—knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn’t belong to our family anymore. And he packed he packed his backs and left. He’s living here in London now. Mum tried to go and talk to him but he slammed the door in her face.”

    Percival spoke up for the first time, “I think you might be judging him a bit too harshly. I mean, sure he said some awful things, but he was hurt first. Think about it: he was all excited, he got a great job, pays well, give him status and prestige, influence, and he comes home to tell his family—his father—the great news. Only, the man who he sought to impress—to make him proud—tells him that the only reason he got it was because his employer wanted to use him to betray him family and to spy on his enemies for him. That must have hurt on a lot of different levels. Not the least of which, the unspoken assumption that Percy _would_ betray his family by spying on you.

   “So he’s hurt, so he hurts back and truth is often the sharpest weapon one can use. He probably _has_ been fighting against your father’s reputation; the money thing might just be his point of view or something he said in anger.

   “As for the being loyal to the Ministry thing? You _do know_ that the Ministry—as foolish as its current Minister is— _is actually_ the lawful entity in this land, right? And that Dumbledore and his Order are vigilantes, right? In Percy’s eyes, he’s just being a good citizen, a productive member of society.”

   The Weasleys all had a mulish look on their faces, whether from their Headmaster-Idol being spoken of as being unlawful or from hard logic they didn’t want to hear Percival didn’t know. Hermione had a thoughtful yet scornful look on her face. She had a superiority complex, that one, he’d bet his grandfather’s silver pocket watch on it. Harry didn’t say anything from where he had been sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms crossed around them but he did tilt his head back, laying it on Percival’s shoulder, looking up at the canopy over the bed and occasionally glancing at Percival.

   They sat in silence until there was a knock on the door and Molly poked her head in. “Percival? The Headmaster would like to talk to you.” She looked a bit surprised by Harry’s head on Percival’s shoulder, and faintly disapproving, but she didn’t say anything.

   He nodded in acknowledgement and shrugged the shoulder Harry’s head was on as a signal to sit up. When he was in the process of sitting up Harry twisted around and brushed his thumb firmly over Percival’s Mark. Percival blinked owlishly at the firm reminder of who he belonged to, though he doubted Harry consciously acknowledged that that was what he was doing and how the Mark tied into their own relationship.

    Then he turned and walked out the door and followed Mrs. Weasley down the hall, mentally erecting his strongest Occlumency shields and readied himself for the verbal warring and interrogation that was sure to happen once he sat down at the table of the Order of the Phoenix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, Harry's had his first sexual identity crisis, yay him! And I'm hoping to up the sexual tension to like... Destiel Seasons 4-5 levels. Not sure I can manage it but....  
>  Anyway, The Case of 'No Coincidence' is an idea I took from Vengeance_Angel's 'Mad Season' which is an awesome HP/Supernatural crossover that you all should read. I got a kick out of the idea that Petunia would wipe the floor with them in board games, even with them cheating. I am still accepting suggestions for a name for this, btw. I have gotten 3 suggestions, all from the same person (shout out to you Cassie!)  
> So who all is excited for whenever I get around to the trial and Seraphina making a grand entrance, because I am.   
> And man, are Percival and Harry determined to progress their relationship. Like, when writing the first oath Percival gives, it wrote itself into a version of the one he gives Harry and I was like, you caaaaaannnnn'ttttt not in front of Dumbledore's people! So I had to write that scene in the parlour, mainly cause Snape was going to be...Snape-y. But once Percival Swore his Oath Harry was like, this magic feels incomplete... so HE gave an answering one that literally came word by word and then at that point Magic was like "Fuck it!" and gave them the lovely present of a cleaned house while Death was smirking in the background cause he's a smug bastard.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival's interrogation, Harry has some choice words to say to a few people, and dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Cassie and Rothesis, for the suggestion of this title. Hope everyone enjoys reading this newest chapter.

    Percival Graves was sitting at the end of the very long, aged wooden table in the kitchen at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix which was, as defined by one Hermione Granger, “a secret society that Dumbledore is in charge of. He founded it back during the First War to help fight against You-Know-Who.” All available seats were taken and at the other end of the table sat Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore himself. The greasy haired man was seated a little closer than half way down the table and was watching him even more intently than the Headmaster seemed to. The rest of the table was looking at him like he was some bizarre creature in a zoo.

    The headmaster was looking very aged these days. Of course, the last pictures he had seen of him were from 70 years ago and he had not been exactly young then either. His hair was solid white and long, though it had nothing on the ridiculous length of his beard. Percival absently wondered how he kept it clean since any sort of cleaning magic left hair unmanageable. The man’s blue eyes were twinkling, rather distractingly so, which creeped Percival out a little; any person who could keep an amused and merry twinkle in their eye in a serious situation was not a person he was going to trust. Not that he was going to trust Dumbledore in the least anyway, especially with the shady going-ons of his actions involving his Lord. He wondered what approach Dumbledore was going to take with him: would he act the part of one of the leaders in this war or would he go the benign grandfather routine?

    “Welcome, Mr. Graves, to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Though your arrival, dear boy, was a bit unexpected I have to say,” Dumbledore greeted him kindly; though the last sentence had a vaguely disapproving tone that Percival supposed was meant to induce guilt. He wondered if people actually fell for that. Especially adults, did they really allow this man to chastise them like unruly children? It seemed he was pulling the grandfather card.

    When Percival failed to respond to the bait, Dumbledore’s face fell in apparent disappointment and sorrow before he seemed to rally and started again, “Now, my boy, I need for you to tell me a bit about yourself. My colleagues tell me your accent is American; whatever brought you to England? And your guardian, where are they?”

    Now…what to say? Should he engender sympathy by telling them he was… Yes, that seemed a perfect plan. Parents names… _Whatever you decide,_ a voice whispered to him, _the records will appear._ Well, that certainly was convenient.

     “I’m sixteen-years-old, born November 13th. My parents recently died when they were attacked at a charity event. My guardian’s work recently allowed her to relocate to London and she thought the change of scenery would do me good. She worked with my parents organizing charities and such, fighting for the rights of others.” Phina wouldn’t mind; from what he had read, she had spent the last few decades doing just that. He thought she would appreciate the opportunity to turn this Ministry on its head and ‘drag it out from its ass-backwards medieval outlook’ as a note scribbled in the margin of a newspaper clipping about creature rights put it.

    “And what brought you to Little Whinging at just the right time to help our Mr. Potter?” There was suspicion seeping in at this question.

    Percival forced himself to blush and look down to the floor towards his left, giving Dumbledore the first clear view of his Mark. He heard the ever so slight intake of breath and fought not to smirk. Still acting like he was about to die from embarrassment, he said, “I...I had decided to try the No-maj version of transportation. I… I got lost. And I didn’t know how to get back or—or even when the next… ‘bus’,” he sounded out carefully, as if the word was unfamiliar. “I decided to walk around, hoping I would come across someone who could help. I eventually found myself in a park. There… was a group of kids my own age and I thought maybe they could help. As I was walking up to them, I saw the sky darkening and the temperature dropping. Everyone started running in different directions, so I just followed the last two, who seemed to be going to the same place, unlike everyone else.”

    “And then, my boy, what happened then?” Dumbledore’s voice had changed in a way he didn’t think most would note. Percival looked back to the table. Most Order member were in various states of sympathy and/or slight horror. The greasy-haired one was watching him but was also carefully side-eyeing the headmaster. So, he had noted the change. The headmaster himself seemed to be filled with an energy he could barely suppress and his eyes were twinkling madly, his lips were twitching, and something in his overall facial expression said **_hunger._** If Percival were the type to be intimidated by creepy facial expressions, he would have shuddered. As if was he felt his face automatically blank of any deeper facial expressions.

    “We ran and found cover in some sort of concrete overhang before everything went completely black. I pulled out my wand and had seen the black haired boy—as I thought of him then—pull his wand. Because I’m American, I’m subject to their laws and I wasn’t sure of all the…nuances of your laws for underage wizards, so I told the boy not to use his wand. I cast a Maximum Lighting Charm, which was when we caught sight of the Dementors. I had read about them but never seen one before. However, my tutors had insisted that I be prepared for every eventuality, especially considering my… talents in Defense. So I cast the Patronus Charm and drove the Dementors away.

   “Oh!” he added, as if just remembering, “I forgot that I had asked the blond boy—Dudley-- if he lived with the boy and knew about magic, since he was blaming Harry for it. In America, there’s a certain amount of lee-way given when performing magic in front of family members that you live with since it isn’t a direct violation of the Statute.

    “You can imagine my surprise when Harry got a letter from the Ministry about underage magic use when he didn’t cast any magic whatsoever, not even a _lumos._ How does that even happen?” His voice unintentionally gained a subtle edge of steel at the question, lifting the veil of a semi-normal teenage boy ever so slightly and allowing a glimpse of the hardened warrior underneath the façade. The—he had to be some sort of spy, as observant of everything as he was—spy’s gaze sharpened.

    “I’m afraid I can’t disclose such information to a minor or citizen of another country, suffice it to say I am doing all I can to help young Harry.” Dumbledore affected regret before moving on, “But, my boy, why did you not return to your guardian? Surely, she is worried sick,” he said as he gave his Disappointed And Disapproving look over his half-moon glasses.

    “I called her from the Dursleys’ phone; she was glad I made a friend and agreed that if it wouldn’t be any trouble for the Dursleys that I should stay with Harry until the hearing, so that I could speak there about what had happened. She talked to Petunia and she agreed it would be no trouble for me to stay. In fact, my guardian was rather relieved; when we got here she discovered her work would be _much_ busier than she had thought and she hated the thought of leaving me all alone for so long. We were lucky to manage one meal together a week, so she thought this arrangement was a godsend.”

    “And I suppose this was the reason you and young Harry insisted that you come with him?” Percival nodded. “My colleagues tell me you made an oath that you meant Harry Potter no harm?”

    “What else was I to do? They were all awfully suspicious of me.” He heard Moody snort.

    “Still,” Dumbledore said, “oaths and vows are a serious thing in the magical world, my boy. Surely you cannot _always_ promise to mean no harm to Harry; one cannot always know what the future will hold. Perhaps someday you might find that you and Harry disagree. Harry for one, harbors no ill will towards those of… let’s say… ‘lesser blood’, and you, as a pureblood, are sure to disagree with this,” Dumbledore subtly probed.

    “I don’t see why; Harry is my friend. As for those of… you put it as ‘lesser blood’… I’m not sure what it’s like here in Britain, but we make no real distinction between those from magical families and those from No-Maj families.”

    “I see,” Dumbledore nodded sagely. “Sadly, there are those here in Britain who believe that to come from a family of magic makes them superior to those who do not or only have one magical parent. The vast majority of these ‘pureblood supremacists’ serve a man named Voldemort”—all at the table winced and a few gasped—“who has recently returned and is using this time to gather followers and reestablish his powerbase. It is the goal of the Order of the Phoenix to fight him. We are always looking for those of talent, whose inborn sense of justice will not let them sit idly by as innocents are killed for a madman’s idea of blood purity.”

    The majority of people sitting at the table obviously couldn’t hear how he was toeing the line of his little recruitment speech since they were all puffed up with pride from the implied compliments their leader was paying them. Shacklebolt’s face was carefully blank, the spy’s was blank but Percival could see the disgust on it, Tonks was looking a bit disconcerted, Moody was scowling. From what he understood from Ron and Hermione while they were still tripping over themselves to explain to Harry why they ‘simply _couldn’t_ tell him anything,’ the Order only accepted overage wizards who were out of Hogwarts. That Dumbledore was trying to manipulate him into wanting to join the Order, lest he be a selfish person who would stand aside as innocents were murdered before him, told Percival he _really_ wanted him. Or more precisely, wanted his power as the presumed Master of Death. Percival mentally shook his head. Death _had_ told him the Mark would be a wonderful red herring, and if it kept Dumbledore from concentrating too heavily on Harry, well, all the better.

    “On that note, what are your intentions towards young Harry? As I’m sure you are aware, he is very important to us; not only to the people in this room who see him as a dear family member, but also to the war. He is, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived. It is his destiny to fight against Voldemort”—everyone flinched again—“and I fear that Voldemort”—flinch—“will never stop trying to kill Harry.” He shook his head sadly.

    “My intentions?” Percival asked slowly, with a hint of incredulity. “You make it sound like I’m trying to ask for your daughter’s hand. Harry is my friend but I don’t think we’re quite ready for me to ask for his hand yet,” Percival quirked a wry smile which combined with his teasing tone made those around chuckle though Snape fought valiantly against the impulse to take points for cheek and Minerva was trying but failing to look disapproving since her lips kept twitching upwards. “As I said, Harry is my friend; I stand by my friends.”

    “Very well,” Dumbledore said, briskly changing the subject, “will you be attending Hogwarts this year? Your age and birthdate would put you in young Harry’s year.” He beamed happily.

    “Yes, my guardian and I had made arrangements to enroll me in Hogwarts; we’ve readied the necessary paperwork. It actually should have been sent some time in the last few days.”

    “Good, good. Now I must ask you, my boy, about the tattoo on your neck. Unfortunately, tattoos are not allowed in Hogwarts,” he said even as he moved forwards imperceptibly in his chair in anticipation.

    With attention brought to it, Percival found himself with everyone’s attention on the Mark. One witch with black hair tied back into a strict bun gasped and said, “That was the sign of the Dark Lord Grindlewald. Why would you tattoo such a thing on yourself?!”

    Percival shook his head. “It was Gifted to me. I was assured that though Grindlewald used it, that this was far older than he and is not, in fact, his Mark.”

    “Gifted, my boy?” Dumbledore asked, practically vibrating. “Would you mind telling us who gave it to you?”

    “I’m not at liberty to say.” He met Dumbledore’s eyes evenly. He could feel Dumbledore’s mind trying to gain access to his, to his memory of when he had gotten the Mark. His presence was subtle at first, trying not to draw attention to itself but as more time passed by the attempts focused more on power than finesse. Finally, Percival grew tired of it and broke the gaze saying, “I hope you don’t make a habit of performing Legillimency on minors, _headmaster_. Not only is it a gross violation of privacy and misuse of authority but it is also _illegal._ ”

    The black haired witch gasped, in outrage this time, and exclaimed, “Albus! You didn’t!”

    Albus lifted his hands in a placating gesture, “Now, Minerva, I had to; what if he had been tattooed by a sympathizer or follower of Grindlewald. We would need to know. As it was, I could not anything; I suspect whoever did it, obscured the information.”

    Minerva sat back, still bristling but willing to accept his excuses. Dumbledore turned back to Percival, “I’m sorry, my boy, but since tattoos are prohibited at Hogwarts, you will need to cover it up. At all times.” Dumbledore did _not_ want anyone to know about this tattoo.

    His mind had been blown—to use the language of the youngsters these days—when he had seen that tattoo. The sign of the Deathly Hallows, the sign of the Master of Death. But how could this boy, this _child_ , have collected all the Hallows? Dumbledore had been _sure_ – _Gellert_ had been sure—that the wand that they had tracked to Gregorovich, that Gellert had stolen and Albus had eventually won, was the Elder Wand.

    If he was indeed the Master of the Hallows, then he must have the Elder Wand. Albus would need to examine the boy’s wand. And if it was, well, accidents happen to wands all the time and the boy could easily get a new one— _a less powerful one_ —from Ollivander’s. Albus had thought he already had two of the Hallows: the Wand and the Cloak (which he kept in a special undetectable room; as if he would give such a priceless item to a child who could barely cast. No, he had given him a regular invisibility cloak and put detection spells on it so he would know when the blasted boy was around). But now, if this new pawn was indeed the Master of Death, he would need to keep him close. Close and under his control.

    “May I examine your wand? It is standard procedure for all incoming students,” Dumbledore said, mentally rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

    “I was unaware of any school rule saying I must surrender my wand to be examined,” Percival coolly.

    Dumbledore was about to answer when Minerva said, “That’s because there isn’t.” She looked at Dumbledore, “Really, Albus.”

    “I’m afraid I will require your wand nonetheless, Mr. Graves. Underage magic is restricted after all and it would be best to remove the temptation. I assure you it will be completely safe in my care.”

    Percival wanted to raise his eyebrow at the blatant misuse of power…and the fact that no one, save a _very_ select few, saw anything wrong or at all amiss with this situation. “I am a citizen of America, thus not subject to British Law. Furthermore, I have a special permit for the use of magic this summer. And since you are neither my guardian, and not yet my headmaster, you have no authority to confiscate my wand.”

    “Now you see here,” Molly Weasley butted in, “you don’t talk to the headmaster that way! He deserves your respect!”

    Percival stayed silent. There was nothing more to say; he wasn’t letting that power-obsessed old man get his hands on his wand, much less for an undeterminable amount of time. However since Magic had said the wand was a continuation of the red herring he decided to throw the headmaster a bone, “It’s 11 and ¾ inches, unyielding, elder wood with a thestral hair core.” Dumbledore’s eyes lit up with a rapacious gleam.

    “One more thing: What are the names of your parents and guardian? I remember a Percival Graves, as I remember he went missing during the War with Grindlewald; his body was never found. Are you perhaps related to him?” The question seemed innocent enough, if one ignored the dark gleam in Dumbledore’s eye that told Percival what the man suspected.

    “He was my namesake; my grandfather’s brother. One day they discovered his name on our family tapestry had gained a date of death even if they never managed to find his body. My parents told me stories of that time, there was a huge upheaval. Turns out he had been abducted by Grindlewald and held captive while Grindlewald used poly-juice potion to take his place. When Grindlewald was caught… well, they never found him did they. He must have died so horribly. He was the Director of Magical Security at the time, similar to your Head of Department of Magical Law enforcement. My parents thought he was very brave and a good man so they named me after him. My parents were Thomas Amery Graves and Andrea Callista Graves nee Walsh. My guardian prefers to remain unknown until she can make an impression herself.” He ended with a wry chuckle; it was certainly the truth about Phina.

    “But surely she would like to know you are all right? I or one of my colleagues would be glad to meet with her and assure her of your safety.”

    “Oh that’s not necessary; she said she would meet me at the Ministry on the 12th so that she could make sure I’m alright and if I’d rather go back home for the rest of summer or stay.”

    Dumbledore subsided, disappointed but seemingly resigned. “Well, Mr. Graves, thank you for answering our questions but I’m afraid we adults have some more to discuss so if you could please rejoin your friends upstairs….” And dear gods that man was condescending. Add to the fact that he just lumped Harry and the children together and called them his friends, as if that was a foregone conclusion. Irritating. But Percival got up and gave a respectful head nod to the table and left the room, all the while feeling two pairs of eyes burning into his back.

    On his way back to the room he would be sharing with Harry, after stepping around some small balls he suspected of being dung bombs, he stopped by the portrait that everyone seemed to hate and considered it. If they were reduced to using Silencing Drapes then they must not be able to remove it from the wall. He had some ideas but he’d have to know more before he could approach this problem in the most effective way.

    When he opened the door, all noise stopped. An ominous thing but not one he was unused to getting; his aurors had always gone silent when he’d entered the room. And, yup, he was used to all eyes fixing on him as well.

    Harry was completely red-faced and had been as he walked in. Ron was getting red-faced. Hermione was blushing lightly and looked as if she felt the soul-deep need to apologize to an authority figure for inappropriate behavior. The twins were grinning maniacally, moving their gaze from Percival to Harry and back again. Ginny looked begrudgingly amused but also had some sort of deep seated… not quite anger….

    He could guess what— _who—_ they had been talking about, and no doubt teasing Harry mercilessly to which Percival would gladly throw Harry under the bus for this. The Shield thing only went so far. It did not include sibling like heckling. So he merely raised his eyebrow at them and gave the same look he gave to rookie aurors who were gossiping instead of working.

    “And we would be talking about, _what_ , exactly?” He asked coolly. It felt good to stop pretending to be a some-what easily cowed sixteen-year-old and show the steel  and authority he had worn like his favorite coat (that Grindlewald had stolen, the bastard).

    Harry, Ron, and Hermione all went redder. Ginny’s grin took on a sadistic sharpness and the twins’ grins went downright wicked.

    They answered, switching between each other so fast it was almost one person speaking, “We were just worried for our ickle Harrykins here. See, we think, that poor, innocent, maidenly Harry might have had his sweet little head turned by the big, strong, mysterious knight who showed just in time to save Harry and sweep him off his virginal feet.”

    At this point Harry had gone so red in the face Percival was almost worried. He jumped up like a scalded cat and shrieked, “STOP IT! JUST _SHUT UP_ THE TWO OF YOU!”

    At this point Ginny said with an almost hidden dark gleam in her eyes, “But Harry,” she said in a mock simpering voice while batting her eyelashes, “surely you can admit that Percival is”—she put on a fake American Southern accent—“ever so handsome. Why, even _you_ can’t be strong enough to resist a dashing hero _with_ a pretty face.”

    Harry sank down on the bed to have his breakdown and Ginny smirked and exchanged high fives with the twins.

    “Yes, well,” Percival said, deciding to save Harry. He walked further into the room and closed the door, nudging Harry so he could sit on the bed. Harry shuffled but continued being curled up like some weird shell-less hermit crab. Percival couldn’t help the reassuring squeeze he gave to the back of his neck or how he let his hand trail down Harry’s spine before removing it and ignoring the resultant looks. “What else have you been talking about?”

   “Nothing much,” came Harry’s muffled voice before he decided to sit up. “Just how the Ministry and the _Daily Prophet_ —and people in general—are being stupid. We talked about the Dementor attack and what we’ve been doing. Before the last subject we were getting desperate enough that we started talking about our summer homework.”

    “I’m still surprised by how much of the homework you say you completed, Harry. I mean, Ron didn’t get even half of that done and he had me to nag at him to do it; I should take a look at it, just to be sure you’re doing it properly,” Hermione said. Percival didn’t particularly like the way she was talking to Harry; as if he wasn’t smart enough to do his summer homework or that he’d lie about how much he did or that because he did so much of it, he must have done it wrong and it was Hermione who could tell him if his work was right or not, even though she was a student—in the same year as Harry.

   But Harry could more than defend himself and he proved it by opening his mouth and saying with scorn, “I had nothing else to do for four weeks, Hermione. No news, no letters, not even any chores. It’s not a surprise I got so bored out of my skull I did my summer homework; after all, it was the absolute only connection I had to magic—the only thing to remind me _magic was real_.

    “So yeah, I did my homework. And do you honestly think I’m so stupid I can’t figure out how to write essays after _the last four years_ doing it? Do you think I’m so stupid that I can’t understand the lessons without you working over my shoulder correcting me every step of the way? Or maybe, you think you know _so much more_ about magic, that I could never do anything—much less learning—without you? Need I remind you that you are in the same year as me? That for all you’re top of the year, that that hasn’t let you skip a year?

    “I’m sorry for using such harsh words, but maybe you shouldn’t assume that you’re so much better than me or so much smarter than me and that if it wasn’t for you, that I would utterly fail. Because it’s not true, I’ll tell you that now. If it wasn’t for you, I would have relied on myself much sooner instead of being content to coast in my classes like Ron.”

    Ron squawked and said, “Oh no, you leave me out of this! I am staying out of this row!”

    Hermione had tears in her eyes. She sniffed and said in a stiff voice, “Fine. See if I ever offer you academic help again. We’ll see who’s right when your grades start slipping even lower. Come on Ginny. Let’s go.” She got up and Ginny followed with a sort of apologetic glance back.

    Fred whistled, “Wow, Harry. Tell us how you really feel, mate.”

    George nodded, eyebrows raised, looking very impressed. “I mean, she sorta had it coming, with her I-know-more-and-better-than-you attitude but did you really need to be so harsh?”

     Ron nodded, agreeing with them completely and hoping Hermione wouldn’t stop helping _him_ with his work. Though, if he was being honest, he didn’t _really_ need her help, he just didn’t like doing it and his brain really didn’t like when he sat still and _focused_ –except if it was chess, but then, his brain was always jumping around, going from strategy to strategy and playing scenarios out in his head, so it was hardly like focusing at all. When he did homework he just couldn’t seem to focus on it for any length of time, so Hermione’s help was actually beneficial for keeping him on task even if her condescending way of teaching grated on his nerves.

     “Weeeellll, I probably didn’t need to be _quite_ that harsh,” Harry answered. “But all my life people have accused me of lying, particularly about academics, and… and she’s supposed to be my friend, to believe in me and all I can do. That she was undermining my newly resurfaced need to do my best just—hit the wrong nerve. I know she didn’t know that I had decided not to slack or coast in my classes anymore but…” Harry sighed and leaned back against Percival’s side so that he was laying against Percival’s left arm. “The fact that she thinks I’m so much less smart than she is, even if that is subconsciously, it really irks me. I can’t stand people thinking I’m stupid, I never could; being thought of as a liar, I can take; being thought of as stupid, nu-uh.”

    The three Weasleys nodded; that, they could understand. Fred gave the pair of them an assessing look and said, “But in all seriousness, what _is_ going on with you two? I’ve never seen you so physically relaxed with anyone else, not even Ron and Hermione or me and George and we’re all physically closest to you.”

    Harry just shrugged. “It’s comfortable,” was all he said.

    “Are you two like… going out?” Ron asked.

    Percival looked over at the portrait on the wall who was looking very interested and trying very hard not to look so. “I think,” he said slowly, “that whatever happens or doesn’t happen between Harry and I, should stay between Harry and I and I’m sure that if that situation changes, you will no doubt be told about it. Until then, it’s our business and no one else’s.”

    The twins nodded, “We can respect that.” They exchanged a look with each other before they somehow, although they hadn’t moved in the slightest, started to loom over Percival. “However, if you ever hurt him—”

    “Well, let’s just say—”

    “We have a lot of products that—”

    “Need testing and that we’re—”

    “At least one of them could help in—”

    “Hiding a body,” they finished. Their entire countenance changed as the bounced up, smiled at Harry with what Percival was sure was feigned innocence and gentleness (surely those demons didn’t have anything so pure as that in their souls) and said, “We’ll see you at dinner, Harrykins. For now, we have products to plan and experiments to test.”

    Ron shuddered as the door closed behind them. “I’m glad I’m not rooming with them.”

   “Uhm, actually Ron, you are. Percival doesn’t have a room and he doesn’t really know anyone but me, certainly not well enough to sleep soundly in the same room as them and you _are_ their brother.”

   Ron gave a very loud, very pathetic groan; the sound of mournful noise an animal makes when they’re trapped and the only way their getting out of it is through death. “But _Harry_ ,” he whined in a high-pitched squeal. He didn’t say anything else though because he knew it wouldn’t change it and he wasn’t going to force his brothers on some poor innocent bystander. But he wanted his objection to be known!

    “Fine,” he pouted. “But you tell them not to test any more than… two! Products on me in a day and that they can’t be while I’m sleeping or otherwise unaware. And no pranking me if they’re testing on me. You tell them that; they’ll listen to you.” He scoffed. “They’d probably go so far as to pledge their eternal loyalty to you. It would be more likely than me becoming a prefect.”

    “Wow, Ron. That was... those conditions are very mature for you.”

    “Well it’s not like I’m naïve enough to think I wouldn’t be their guinea pig. At least this way it won’t be in my sleep, without me knowing, or countless ones a day. Plus I won’t be pranked. So, yeah, this way I come out sort of on top.”

    They sat in contemplative silence for a bit before Ron got up saying that he ought to move his stuff. Percival nudged Harry and looked down at him. Harry nodded and said, “Ron, since your stuff’s already unpacked, why not just leave it here. You can get your night stuff and some clothes for the morning before bed but leave the rest; that way there’s less chance your stuff will get booby trapped or pranked.”

    Ron blinked. “Really? You wouldn’t mind it?”

    It was Percival that said, “As long as you knock before coming in—and wait for a response. Neither of us would mind you keeping your stuff in here.”

    Harry tacked on, “Plus, in all likelihood, you _will_ end up rooming back in here. Sirius gives it about a day or two but it will probably be longer with the restrictions. Still, we do have most of the rest of the month.”

    “Then why am I even bothering moving in the first place.”

    Percival said, “I suppose you could say for propriety’s sake. We have to at least give it a try, because when you come back, Harry and I will have to share the bed. Or transfigure one but….” He trailed off not wanting to say the reasons why transfiguring a bed wouldn’t work, if his suspicions were right.

    “Oh,” Ron said. “Then I guess I can give it a go.” He looked between the two of them. “Though somehow, I don’t think the two of you mind the idea of sharing a bed, even if it is as small as that one.”

    Harry shrugged. “Uncle Vernon wouldn’t let Percival use the guestroom so we had to share my bed and that one is _really_ small.”

    “What a wanker!” Ron exclaimed. Harry nodded in agreement.

    “But at least my aunt and cousin were better. Turns out Dudley’s a—” he cut off as Percival shook his head sharply and subtly indicated the portrait, who quickly tried to appear uninterested and on the verge of sleep.  Harry’s brow wrinkled in confusion and Percival tapped his ear and eye in an off-hand way.

   “Turns out Dudley’s actually quite decent once he’s exposed to soul deep terror and made to relive his worse memories.”

    Ron raised his eyebrow and pretended to twist some kinks out of his spine so he could look at whatever it was that made his friend so cautious at a warning from Graves. He blinked slowly at the portrait. He hadn’t really paid attention to it before, because in Hogwarts portraits were _everywhere_ and they were also a common thing in most wizarding houses. But… now that he thought about it… what was a portrait of a Black doing in a _bedroom_. Usually landscapes or pictures of animals were for bedrooms and the portraits of family went in the hallways or parlours.

   He turned back to Harry and Graves, nodding that he understood, then continued the charade of stretching out kinks by rolling his neck and shoulders, sighing in satisfaction when they popped and smirking as harry faintly grimaced. “Well come on then, we can go tell the twins about the restrictions. They probably have loads of stuff they’d like to show you anyway.”

     They spent quite a while in the twins’ room and Percival was very impressed by their ingenuity; most things also had practical value that could be used in a variety of ways including guerrilla warfare. He made a suggestion to them in a low voice that maybe they could try to develop a way to trap and secure a person so that they were unable to move—particularly their arms—until legal authorities arrived. Those would have been _very_ useful if they’d had have them back in his time. The proximity ward the twins had set went off and everything was put away, just in time, as Molly Weasley swept in and told them the meeting was over and that she needed help with dinner.

    Percival was formally introduced to Arthur and Bill Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher. Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Tonks were also present for dinner. While the others were cooking dinner, Harry and Percival sat at the table.

    Sirius was seated across from Harry. “Had a good summer so far?”

    “Not really, it had been quite lousy,” Harry replied.

    Sirius grinned. “Don’t know what you’re complaining about, myself.”

    Percival’s eyebrow rose and his lips twitched downwards even as Harry let out an incredulous, “ _what?”_

    “Oh yeah,” Sirius nodded, “Personally, I’d have welcomed a Dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you’ve had it bad, at least you’ve been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights… I’ve been stuck inside for a month.”

    Harry had stiffened at the beginning of Sirius’ little rant and was almost distracted by the last part but… before Percival, Sirius was the only one he had had in this world. To hear him speak as though fighting for his life was just a fun little jaunt like what Sirius and his father had gotten up to in their youth, while Harry _truly_ knew the meaning of _fighting for your life_ meant, it left a bad taste in his mouth.

    “Need I remind you,” he said coldly, “that the last time you had a ‘deadly struggle for you soul,’ that not only did it get to the point where _your soul **left** your body_ , but that you were then captured and would be dead _right now_ if Hermione and I hadn’t have broken you out of your cell?

    “You seem to think that facing death is some sort of fun little adventure you go on to stop your boredom and to give you stories to tell when you’re havin’ a pint with the lads down at the pub,” Harry drawled sarcastically, the slight accent one got from attending a boarding school in Scotland ten months out of the year coming to the fore. “But it’s not. It’s not fun and it’s not something to go looking for. It’s terrifying and your mind freezes and your limbs shake and your brain is _screaming_ at you to run, to go, to escape and most times you can’t do any of that and it’s so terrifying that the fear of it seems to freeze your very soul and you’re a fool if you think staying in a house for a month is _any_ sort of reason to face that, much less _seek it out._

    “Sirius, for god’s sake, you’re the only the resembling family I have left. You’re supposed to be my godfather. Why would you futilely try to risk your life? And I expect a better answer than, ‘because I’m bored’ or ‘because I don’t like this house’ or ‘because I’m going stir-crazy and feel useless’ but _that_ , that is _not good enough_ , Sirius.”

    _Everyone_ seemed stunned by his outburst, except for Percival who had known it was coming since Harry had stiffened and had seen it building in the moment before Harry’s incredulous exclamation.  He was actually rather impressed though, especially with how Harry had opened; this must be what it felt like to watch as Percival had verbally torn into aurors who had made stupid mistakes and risked lives when it could have been prevented by just _doing their jobs properly_. He wanted to sigh in satisfaction.

   Sirius didn’t seem to have an answer of any sort and Lupin looked torn between trying to make excuses for Sirius and agreeing with Harry. Bill looked a bit amused and Arthur looked _very_ impressed. The twins had expressions somewhere between constipation and smirks, Ginny was just smirking but trying to hide it. Molly looked concerned, like she wasn’t sure what to do with a Harry that spoke his mind unreservedly. Hermione looked like she was reminded of the earlier tongue lashing she had gotten from Harry and was trying to blink away tear. Mundungus had been mostly passed out the whole time and Tonks was concerned and bemused; she had, after all, only met Harry this evening and thus didn’t know if this was normal for him or not. Ron had his eyebrows up, a small bemused smirk on his face.

    “Don’t worry, Harry,” he said, “Nothing could stop this idiot from rushing into certain death. But maybe your boyfriend could save you the grief and just knock him out before he falls through deathly drapes or something.”

    Harry just looked at his best mate who gave him his most ‘I’m an innocent in all this’ look to which he snorted. “I don’t think I’m going to be dating a guy any time soon, Ron.”

    Ron shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get dosed with a love potion; you _are_ a rather eligible bachelor.”

     The conversation sort of stalled until Molly pronounced dinner to be ready. Dinner ended up being stew, prepared in a giant cauldron, and fresh bread. Both of which almost ended up on the floor and likely would have if Percival hadn’t sneakily supported the twins’ spells with his own magic. It was worth it even if it did make the twins give him calculating and intense looks.

    “This looks wonderful, Molly,” Lupin said, ladling stew into a bowl for her and handing it across the table.

    It truly was good stew, Percival thought. The herbs and spices were different than what he was used to but he could practically taste the love it was made with and it seemed to warm him down to his very bones in a way he hadn’t realized he still needed from his time as Grindlewald’s guest. “This truly is wonderful stew, Mrs. Weasley. Not even my mother’s was this good.”

    At Percival’s sincere words and the best cooking complement anyone could get—that it was as good or better than their mother’s cooking—Molly went beet red as she tried to get her breathing under control—it wasn’t often she got such a shock to her system. “You’re,” she cleared her throat, “you’re very welcome, dear. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Have seconds or thirds; you and Harry look like you need it.”

    Ron said quietly from next to Harry, just loud enough for Harry and Percival to hear, “Yeah, if you mean they look like they just got back from weeks of confinement and some torture.” Harry and Percival both stiffened but Ron just continued on eating as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

    There were no sounds except for the clinking of cutlery against plates and bowls as everyone concentrated on utterly demolishing the frankly intimidating amount of food until Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius and said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, there’s something trapped in the writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. It could just be a boggart, but I thought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.”

    “Whatever you like,” Sirius said tonelessly, indifferent to anything to do with anything in the house he hated.

    “Of course, with the house suddenly being cleaned, the boggart might not even be there anymore; I checked the curtains earlier and the doxies are gone from there, which definitely clears up whatever plans I had had for us for the next few days. But I suppose we can keep throwing out all those Dark items as we have been.”

    Percival blinked. “Excuse me, uhm, what did you mean, ‘keep throwing out all those Dark items’?”

    “Oh, well, the Blacks were an infamously Dark family, so we’ve been clearing out the house of all the potentially dangerous things.”

    “These… ‘potentially’ dangerous things… they would be family heirlooms and artefacts, wouldn’t they? Priceless pieces of the family’s history?”

    “So?” Asked Sirius, an ugly sneer on his face, “the whole lot of them were rotten and I’d burn down this house if I could.”

    Percival twitched, a lifetime of being taught _family above all else_ causing a deep fury to ignite in him. Percival would say he got angry about as often if not less than the average person. But Percival’s fury was something altogether different. Seraphina would agree that, as long as it wasn’t directed at you, it was an awesome sight to behold. But this was Harry’s godfather, disrespectful, ungrateful, immature whelp that he was and not an enemy. So he would do as Harry had done and keep it verbal.

    “You have no respect for this House,” he stated. “No respect for the ones who came before you and would leave the ones to come after you with… absolutely…nothing. Nothing of their roots, of their family, of their heritage. Nothing to use to retrace the footsteps of the ones that had led them here. Does your irreverence and immaturity know no bounds?”

    Sirius’ mouth gaped opened before his face reddened and he spat out, “And what would you know?! My parents were horrible, monstrous people. And what ‘one to come after me’! I’m the last one of this wretched place! You know nothing, you pureblooded bastard! Are you going to start killing Muggle-Borns too, talking about being proud of your blood!”

    He would have gone on, except Harry was suddenly on his feet with his wand pointed unwaveringly at Sirius’ forehead. “Don’t…” Harry said with death in his tone, “insult him ever again.”

    “Whoa, now,” Lupin said, getting up and holding his hands in a placating manner. “Whoa now, Harry there’s no need for you to pull your wand; put it away, Harry. Put the wand away.”

    Harry didn’t listen, just continued holding his godfather at wand point and staring at him with a look no one at the table had ever seen before. But of course they had never seen it before, this was a Harry that had survived a childhood of abuse and neglect, who had survived on Slytherin cunning and spite, one that hadn’t been needed since Hagrid has knocked down the door of that shack on Harry’s eleventh birthday. His eyes were cold and there was absolutely no expression on his face.

    “Last of the Blacks, you say,” Percival’s fury had always been a quiet thing; he never raised his voice when he was truly angry; he just got quieter the more furious he became. “I suppose it never occurred to you that _Harry_ has a right to everything, all the history in this house. That even if he didn’t want the _history_ of it, that selling it would be worth a fortune. No, instead you just… throw it out like it’s garbage, without thinking of anything except your… petty, pathetic, mommy issues.”

   Sirius opened his mouth again but closed it as Harry shifted his stance minutely and his expression became, if possible, even colder.

    It was Hermione who asked, “Harry is related to the Blacks?”

    Sirius answered with an almost there contempt, “All purebloods are pretty much interrelated.”

    “So you knew this, and decided to deny Harry his heritage. You presumably know that Harry’s greatest desire is family and you would deny him the chance to learn his history? You might not appreciate where you’ve come from but I can guarantee Harry does not share your view.”

    “Doesn’t matter; most of that stuff is cursed anyway.”

     Percival answered coldly, “Then place it in a vault at Gringott’s until a curse-breaker can work on them or until Harry decides what he wants to do with them.”

     “I don’t understand why you would want all those Dark artefacts,” Molly said, shaking her head.

    “I know practically nothing of my history,” Harry said evenly, not taking his eyes off Sirius. “I’d like to learn who my family was and what they’ve done—where I came from.”

    Sirius’ face went dark before he snapped out, “Fine! Fine! If you want that Dark junk, we’ll put it into a Gringott’s vault for when you’re older.”

    Percival said a little louder than his previous statements, “Good. It might stop them from being stolen and sold for another’s gain,” as he side-eyed Mundungus, who, when all eyes turned on him, sniffed and cleared his throat before extracting a silver goblet with the Black crest from his coat.

    “You little thief,” Sirius said. “If I had actually cared, I’d have skinned you alive for stealing from me in my own house.”

    Harry finally took his wand off Sirius and sat down, still glaring at him while he possessively grabbed at Percival’s Mark. Bill’s eyes took on a calculating gleam, one that was identical to the twins’. Then Harry took a breath and let go of Percival, his entire face relaxing and served himself and Percival seconds unconcernedly. It really was good stew, and he never got the chance to eat fresh bread at the Dursleys, just store bought. Hm, maybe that would be something to suggest. It could be nice, spending the day baking fresh bread of all different kinds together and making a stew to go with it. He smiled a small smile to himself. Yes, that was something he wanted; maybe he would write his aunt and ask her what she thought of it. He would even send the letter through the Muggle post to give her a bit less trouble.

    Eventually everyone got back to eating and seconds or in some cases, thirds, were asked for before Molly brought out dessert: rhubarb crumble and custard. By the time Harry had a food baby and Percival couldn’t help but smirk down at Harry’s stomach. Harry just leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his stomach. He noticed Percival’s look but the sight of Percival’s eyes glittering in mirth made the breath catch in Harry’s throat before a smile reluctantly pulled his at his lips and he shook his head slowly.

    “Nearly time for bed, I think,” said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn.

    “Not just yet, Molly,” Sirius said, pushing away his plate and facing Harry. “You know, I’m surprised at you. I thought the first thing you’d do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.”

    There it was again, Percival noted idly, that flinch. “Why is that-- why is it that every time someone says that name, ‘Voldemort’”—cue flinch—“that everyone flinches? How…exactly…does a wizard… cause such widespread and deep fear of a _name_ so that, even with a ten year reprieve, a whole society flinches at the mere mention of the name?”

    The adults were silent until Lupin said forlornly, “You have to understand; those were dark times, desperate times. You could never be sure who was on whose side—”

    “Now, I would believe that if I didn’t know that _war_ is like that. All war is dark and desperate with each side trying to get a leg up on the other, anyway they can, even if it means turning lovers or family members against each other and using spies. Spies are essential to warfare. So what—made this war, _that name,_ so terrifying? The real answer, if you would.”

    This time it was Arthur who answered as he went unnaturally still before seeming to make his decision to answer in truth. “During the war… people who spoke his name disappeared. So many people went missing back then. It took a while to realize the correlation between the two; that saying the name would bring the Death Eaters. You see, You-Know-Who had placed a Taboo on his name; any who were brave, or perhaps foolish, enough to say his name… It would tell him and his Death Eaters right where you were.”

    Molly had been trying to get her husband to stop talking the whole time he was giving his explanation but he ignored her, in the end she collapsed into her seat. “They’re too young to hear about war, Arthur; any of them.”

    “Something like this is vital to know,” Percival said with a crinkle in his brow. “What would happen if they—we—didn’t know about this, and got into the habit of calling him Voldemort thinking it was just a silly fear held over from a war that happened before our births, and he reestablished the Taboo? We’d be hunted down. Not telling us things like this is just hindering our survival. Age doesn’t matter when a war is being raged; no one is unaffected.”

    “You’re still too young,” she said in a desolate tone.

    “Victims of war always are,” Percival said and no one could deny that truer words had never been spoken.

    “Still,” Sirius said, “Harry has a right to know what’s been going on.”

    “Have you forgotten what Dumbledore said?”

    “Which bit?” Sirius asked politely, but with the air of someone readying for a fight.

    “The bit about not telling Harry more than he _needs to know_.”

    “I wonder, how much is there that he _doesn’t need to know_.” Percival said idly. “And why, exactly, Dumbledore has any say in what Harry _needs to know_. As far as I am aware, he is neither Harry’s parent nor his guardian, so what authority does he have to decide what Harry _needs to know_ , which, may I add, seems to be as absolute a bare minimum as he can get away with.”

    Hermione sputtered. “He’s the Headmaster, the greatest wizard in the world, the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of!”

    “Woooow. That’s some powerful propaganda you’re spouting over there. How long have you been indoctrinated? What proof do you have that Voldemort”—seeing the flinches he thought quickly for a substitute—“the Dark Lord Riddle ever feared Dumbledore? That sounds like the type of thing Dumbledore would spread around to engender a sense of false safety in his presence. And ‘greatest wizard in the world’ is quite subjective. Magical Britain is very isolated; you don’t even use books from other countries, how could you possibly know who the greatest wizard in the world in? And so what if he is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Harry is not currently at school, it is summer vacation; his authority over Harry should begin and end with the school term.”

    Hermione and Molly both looked absolutely outraged and indignant and on the verge of shouting but the others could reluctantly see the logic in Graves’ argument.

    Hermione rallied, “He’s the Leader of the Light!”

    “I don’t recall Harry having already joined the Order or this war, officially. Sure, Riddle keeps attacking him and he would never side with Riddle, but whoever said there were only two sides to this war.”

    “What—what do you mean? Of course there’s only two sides; the Light and the Dark!”

    “Hm, I thought it was more Riddle and his followers and Dumbledore and his followers. Besides, you’re all ignorant to what Light and Dark even means; you’ve stagnated and lost your knowledge of Magic. But I don’t care to explain to those who are so blinded and certainly not right now.

    “My point was that Dumbledore has no authority to make _any_ decisions concerning Harry, aside from those directly relating to his schooling and only in the capacity of a normal headmaster and student.”

    No one said anything to that.

    “So,” Harry finally said, “what’s Riddle been up to? You know, other than laying low… and probably recruiting.”

    “How’d you know he was recruiting?” Lupin asked suspiciously.

    Harry shrugged one shoulder. “Because Dumbledore is doing the same.” There was a disquieting silence following his statement.

    Sirius cleared his throat. “Yes, well, in any case, gathering followers is only one thing he’s interested in, he’s got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he’s concentrating on them at the moment.”

    “What’s he after apart from followers?” Harry asked.

    Lupin and Sirius exchanged the most fleeting of glances before Sirius said, “Something he can only get by stealth.”

    Harry looked between the two of them, then at the adult Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley looked angry Sirius was telling Harry this. Mr. Weasley looked vaguely uncomfortable and Bill looked… at anything that wasn’t Harry. “Let me guess,” he said bitterly, “the specifics of which I _don’t need to know._ ” Harry stood up and started out of the room, Percival at his heels. He stopped in the middle of the room and said coldly, “If you’re not going to tell me anything useful, you might as well not say anything and get the satisfaction of being good little sheep, that way at least one of us happy.”

    When they reached their room, Percival had Harry wait in the middle of the room as he took the portrait off the wall, or tried to anyway. “Someone” had put a Sticking Charm on it so Percival took out his wand and pretended to use it to disable the charm. Then he lugged the indignant painting out of the room and threw it carelessly into a room that had a—was that a _hippogriff?!_ Then he went back to his and Harry’s room.

    Harry was still standing in the middle of the room, staring off into space. “I was harsh back there wasn’t I? Molly, well, Arthur and Bill and Tonks didn’t deserve those words. I don’t think they would hold back as much as Molly or Lupin or even Sirius. And I… I was so mean to them.”

    “You were, a bit. But you wouldn’t want to waste such a dramatic exit by going back and apologizing. Besides, you can say you’re sorry to the Weasleys tomorrow and if you ask one of the twins to borrow their wand I’m sure they wouldn’t mind and you could send Tonks a Messenger Patronus or even apologize when you see her next. It’ll be fine, Harry. You’re allowed your teenage rebellious and angry phase.”

    Harry let out a breath that was almost a laugh and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “We should go to bed; I’m beyond tired. God, I chewed out so many people today.”

    “At least you didn’t have to deal with Dumbledore trying to interrogate you. I swear he tried to make me feel guilty by giving me this Grandfatherly Disappointed face at least five times.”

    “Oh yeah,” Harry said, “I forgot he did that.”

    “He also tried to use Legillimency of me. In a room full of people. It’s highly unethical by the way, and when used on a minor, _very_ illegal. And he managed to get away with it. In a room full of people. Even after I called him out on it.” He shook his head. “And that is why I want to start teaching you Occlumency.” Harry nodded so Percival continued, “I’ll explain the basics and we’ll start you on meditation. The real teaching won’t start until after the hearing. We’ll have enough on our plates in the meantime.”

    They had just finished changing into night clothes (Harry taking peeks at Percival) when Ron knocked and was told to enter. He had just grabbed his clothes when a silvery cheetah showed up and said, “I will be expecting you two the day after tomorrow.”

    Ron raised his eyebrow. “I’d ask but… Mione told me about a muggle law thing, ‘plausible deniability.’ But I’m guessing… you two will need someone to cover for you, in case someone asks?”

    Percival nodded and decided to explain so that Ron knew it wasn’t anything frivolous, “My guardian; we need to meet. I need some changes of clothes and Harry needs clothes appropriate for the Wizengamot. Not to mention, she’s going to be going over the legal stuff with us. We really needed to meet before the hearing.”

    “I understand,” he said as he walked to and out the door, “I’ll get the twins to help me, maybe we can develop something to make toads change color and say that you two got sick from eating them.”

    Both Harry and Percival both sighed heavily as exhaustion settled over their shoulders. Though they would honestly rather sleep in the same bed, they knew they would need to get used to sleeping apart by the time they got to Hogwarts so they each went to their separate beds and fell asleep before their heads hit their pillows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo many of these conversations didn't go the way I was expecting them to. I was hoping to introduce Seraphina in this chapter but I suppose we will have to wait for the next one.  
> I didn't quite expect to like Ron so much in this story but apparently this one has decided he's gonna stick by his best mate. Whether Hermione joins later or not is still up in the air though. How did everyone like Harry's "choice words" by the way?  
>  There was some more I was going to add but have completely forgotten what it was.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... It's been awhile. Ehm, this is the last of what I wrote and I hadn't planned on posting it until it was finished. Then I realized, I am just really out of inspiration for this fic and that even if I could continue it, I kinda hate what I've already written enough that I want to rip it apart and start over. But to do that I would need more inspiration. So I figured instead of just tagging this abandoned, I'd post the rest and then cop out.

_The moon was just a sliver in the sky, not that it was easy to see in such a populated area. Gods, he was exhausted. Three of his aurors were in medical due to a sting operation going very, very wrong and some asshole civilian thought any and all personal grievances he had should be taken_ directly _to the Director of Magical Security. All in all it had been a really long day, a long week really. All he wanted was to bathe, change the dressing on the wound on his side, and fall into his bed._

_He had just turned the corner into his hallway when a heavy object hit him in the head. He thought maybe he was being mugged by a No-Maj and threw a punch, hitting a solid jaw that he hadn’t been able to see through the blood dripping down his face and the black spots dancing in his vision._

_“You really shouldn’t have done that, Mr. Graves,” a cold, faintly accented voice said before it uttered, “_ crucio _,” and Percival went down with a scream that he stopped abruptly, not wanting to give that bastard the satisfaction. “This wasn’t meant to be personal, Mr. Graves; I did just need the access you could give me. However, I do not appreciate violence against my person, I’m sure you can understand.”_

_The last thing he saw before getting hit with a stunner was a pair of mismatched eyes until he woke up in a small stone room with the most Wanted wizard in the world standing over him. Grindlewald tilted his head and said, “You’re awake; that’s good. This would be no fun if you weren’t conscious, after all. I think you need a lesson on the appropriate way to treat a house guest. Shall we begin?”_

    Percival stayed absolutely still as he came abruptly awake. He was in a small bed with a canopy hanging over it. Posters of scantily-clad girls adorned the walls, covering up the tasteful and soothing wallpaper underneath.

    Harry was in the bed perpendicular to his own and still asleep, though it didn’t look particularly restful. The moon was bright through the narrow window and a shadow swooped in front of it, nearly giving Percival a heart attack before he saw that it was Hedwig. Percival scrubbed his hands across his face and got up, walking to the window and opening it to the fresh night air.

    “Hey, girl,” he said tiredly. “Harry was wondering what was taking you so long, apparently you usually make it someplace around or slightly before he does.”

    Hedwig nibbled his fingers a bit before lifting a leg, showing the letter attached. “Oh? And let me guess… it’s from…”he turned it to look at the familiar writing, “yup, from Picquery. So… after we left, you tracked down Picquery and decided to let her borrow your services before making your way here?”

    Hedwig bobbed her head up and down. Smart girl. Percival shook his head, smiling wryly. The note read:

_Percival,_

_Is this bird part Seer? I had **just finished placing my apartment under the Fidelius** and thinking I would need to write to you and tell you the address, when this owl appeared. And hooted at me imperiously. Have you ever seen a bird act like it’s a queen and you’re one of her subjects? Because I can _ _now say I know what that feels like. And considering in the course of my career I have dealt with **actual royalty** , I would know this for a fact. Now, please give that beautiful beast a treat._

_As I already told you via Patronus, I expect to see you and Harry the day after tomorrow, preferably at 8 am, for a short breakfast before I take you both shopping. I figured you would appreciate ridding Mr. Potter of the potential hazards of his glasses, so I’ve made an appointment for a magical Healer specializing in optometry, renowned in Switzerland where he works. For an additional fee, he agreed to be sworn to Absolute Secrecy. He will Floo in at 8:30 am._

_I made the decision to buy mundane cosmetics to cover Mr. Potter’s scar, since curse scars can’t be hidden through magical means. With no scar or glasses, it is doubtful any would recognize him. However, those ‘Order’ people of Dumbledore’s might recognize you, so a simple glamour on the both of you will is the precaution we’ll take before going to Diagon Alley._

_You stated your desire to go to Gringott’s so we’ll go there first. I have made appointments with both the Graves’ family accountant (who was most surprised and suspicious hearing from me) and the Potter family accountant who only by the grace of the Old Ones didn’t cut the Floo on me when I asked for a meeting with him. I think there will be interesting things to find with young Mr. Potter’s financial dealings._

_I’ve been to the Ministry, all our papers are in order: your Hogwarts transfer papers have been sent, your permit for summer magic, your animagus registration papers have been very quietly filed with the ICW. While on the subject, a rather strange bundle of information, papers, and various forms appeared earlier, all properly back dated—and indeed properly aged—informing me of my long history of dealings with Thomas Amery Graves and his lovely wife, Andrea Callista Graves nee Walsh. Your Tapestry also showed up and it seems my dear schoolmate, Percival Graves—whose middle name is now Adrian, by the way—died on January 1st, 1927. The only surviving Graves being my godson, Percival Eleazar Graves._

_Speaking of the Ministry, this government is shadier than a palm tree in the desert. The justice system is a joke—that is, when it isn’t entirely nonexistent. I’ll be there for the hearing, at the proper time too. (Seems at least one person doesn’t want the Headmaster’s interference either and so have changed the time; however, my dear friend Amelia—who holds the British equivalent of your old position—appreciates my sense of dramatics and has promised to keep me posted as to the hearing.)_

_I’ll save the rest for tomorrow. I’ll trust your discretion about the note._

_Sincerely,_

_Seraphina Picquery_

    There was a small strip of parchment with Seraphina’s new address, worded to include Percival. He folded the letter and tapped it against the palm of his other hand. This Ministry…. He shook his head. “First things first,” he said aloud, turning to Hedwig. “Picquery said, and I quote, ‘now, please give that beautiful beast a treat’ so, where are your treats?”

    Hedwig flew to her perch and tapped a small drawer underneath it. Percival opened it and pulled out some treats and  poured some water from the jug next to the perch into the small bowl. Hedwig gave a pleased chirrup at the treats and a grateful hoot for the water. “You have such nice manners,” he told her. The look he got back said, “Momma didn’t raise no ignorant, rude fool.” Percival raised his hands in surrender; he was man enough to let an owl have the last word.

    Percival cast a wandless _tempus_. 6:45 AM. Not bad for a night full of nightmares; almost 6 hours. Harry muttered something in his sleep and shifted restlessly. He had told Percival that he’d had nightmares every night since the end of the Tournament, until they started sleeping together anyway. Percival hadn’t had anything remotely like a full night’s sleep until Harry. He’d noticed how no matter in which position they went to sleep or woke up in, one of Harry’s hands would invariably be touching the Mark. In fact, Harry had started touching the Mark a lot. Ever since the Order members had shown up he’d been more…physical; touching the Mark, laying against him, brushing his hand. Of course, Percival had been touching him more as well, usually to stake a claim or reassure him. …. Apparently, being around others made them territorial. Percival was sure there was something ironic there but he didn’t feel like finding it.

    Harry was fifteen and Percival was not at all sure where this relationship was heading. Harry… was so vibrant and was only getting more so. Harry was like fire and shadow. He flashed and he hid in unpredictable shifts. He’d been hidden by shadows others had laid over him but Percival could see him shedding those with every day that passed. And it was beautiful. Percival felt as if he could almost glimpse the man Harry would grow in to and it left him aching.

    He was drawn from his thoughts as Harry twisted in his sheets, going from "restless" to "obvious nightmare." When he moved closer to wake the boy up, it took him a moment to identify the noises Harry was making in his sleep; they weren't the typical muttering of sleep-talkers instead it sounded almost like...hissing. "Well, that's interesting," he murmured to himself. "Harry," he called softly, "wake up."

    Percival laid his hand on Harry's shoulder, about to shake him awake when he thought better of it. Instead he cupped one cheek and took Harry's hand, raising it to his own neck. As he thought, Harry immediately calmed, relaxing into the mattress. "Harry," he called again, caressing Harry's cheek with his thumb. 

    Harry's eyelashes fluttered before his hand pressed more firmly against Percival's neck and his eyes opened. Those green eyes of his were still clouded with sleep when he whispered, voice sleep-rough, "My own," and tugged Percival down on the bed with him. Percival went but held himself stiffly, unsure where this was going but wanting Harry's full consent for whatever it was. But when Harry simply rubbed noses with him and twinned their free hands together he relaxed. 

    That's how Ginny found them roughly ten minutes later after she knocked softly and peeked inside. Her hand twitched and jerked a little around the door handle, face becoming emotionless for a second before she said softly, "Breakfast is ready. Come down to the kitchen once the two of you have gotten dressed." Then she left.

    Percival sighed and looked down at where Harry had sort of burrowed into his chest. "Harry, wake up; breakfast is ready. If you don't wake up, I'll tell the twins to get you up."

    Harry jerked abruptly upright, hand still resting on the Mark. "Now that's jus'  _evil_ ; why would you do that to me?" He whinged. "Thought you were supposed to be my Shield and protect me, not throw me to those-- those  _demons._ " His jaw cracked on a yawn as he finally opened his eyes. Harry looked down at Percival. "Weren't we supposed to be sleeping in different beds?" He asked. 

    Percival sat up, dislodging Harry's hand and replied, "We were; however, it looked like you were having a nightmare so I went to wake you up and instead you dragged me into your bed. That was about fifteen minutes ago."

   Harry nodded slowly. "I had thought I was. Having a nightmare that is. Something about a long corridor but I can't really remember anything about it. But what was that about breakfast anyway?"

   "Hm?" Percival hummed, "Ah, the youngest Weasley, Ginny, knocked, peeked in, and said breakfast was ready and to go down to the kitchen after we've gotten up."

    "Ginny? Not one of the boys or Mrs. Weasley? Weird. Oh well. We shouldn't keep Molly waiting; she really  _will_ come up after us," Harry commented. He didn't seem to notice the small kiss he brushed over Percival's cheek as he got up and tottered to his trunk and then the en suite. Percival blinked and shook his head, dismissing the absent-minded action. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it. I am deeply appreciative of all of your support and comments. Anyone who wants to play with this idea, feel free to or whatever and thank you all for being here for so long. 
> 
> Best Regards,  
> Tori


End file.
